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Typing out a reply to the lawyer’s email, I express my shock and appall at discovering that Alabama was already married, and explain that I had no idea. Then I tell them that as she’s no longer my wife, I’ll happily return her to Orlov if he’s prepared to meet me halfway.
It feels wrong even to pretend to be willing to give her up. I wouldn’t give a fuck if she really was legally married. I still wouldn’t ever let her go. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and she’s here, with us, on our island, sleeping in our bed, riding our dicks and getting filled with our cum. She’s ours, and once all of this is over, I’m going to marry her properly in a huge and very public ceremony, then a private one that binds all four of us together forever.
Glancing over at her sleeping form, a part of me wishes I’d just waited until she was inside to shoot Dane. But she needed to understand that just because we’re good to her, doesn’t mean we’re good people.
We’re murderers and criminals and we like it. We had the opportunity to spend our lives being rich and spoiled and all while acting completely within the law. But that’s not who we are, not at our core. Our blood is made of death and destruction. It’s our heritage, it’s our DNA, and as much as we fought becoming just like our parents, we got there in the end anyway.
I don’t necessarily enjoy killing. It’s not an art form to me, like it is Vik. But I like the control of knowing I can hold a person’s life or death in the palm of my hand, without ever considering that it’s not my right to choose.
We’re not above the law, we just don’t care about it enough to play by anyone’s rules but our own. Unlike our parents and grandparents while they were alive. Even decades after they were forced from their homeland, they still played by the Bratva’s rules. The laws and expectations of the family were so ingrained in them, that they didn’t know any other way to live.
Being exiled freed me, Lev, and Vik from those shackles. For us, America really became the land of the free. We grew up without the familial expectation that would have chained us in the past, and we thrived on that freedom until we became who we are now.
Rich, arrogant, ruthless villains.
I don’t ever want Alabama to become like us, but she needs to learn that we’re not the same as everyone else, and now neither is she. In the life we live, we’re kings among men and we’ve made her our queen.
She’s quiet when we wake her up for breakfast, toying with the food on her plate rather than eating it. My irrational ego whispers that the reason she’s not eating it, is because it’s the first thing she’s consumed in days that hasn’t been laced with my cum. After this morning’s drama, I hadn’t had a chance to jerk off or visit the kitchen. Eventually, I’ll have to confess to her that I’ve been seasoning all of her food and drinks with my jizz, but I’m hoping by the time I do, she’ll be bred with our baby and so in love with us that she won’t care.
Or maybe I’ll just have her suck my dick and come down her throat a few times a day instead. Then I’ll never have to tell her and her belly will still be full of me.
“We received an email from Orlov’s lawyer,” I announce.
Her gaze snaps up.
“Orlov has produced a marriage certificate, proving that you and he were married six years ago. He’s suggesting that you were kidnapped, and that both he and your father have spent the last two years searching for you.”
The guys stay silent, they already know all of this, but it’s fascinating to watch the kaleidoscope of emotions flash across her face. She goes from shock, to disgust, to anger, to fury and I love it. I love seeing the life burst back into her eyes. I’ll take her anger over her silence any day.
“He what?” she shrieks. “I would have been fourteen, for fuck’s sake.”
“In parts of Russia that’s old enough to get married,” I inform her.
“That’s barbaric.”
Nodding, I agree. “But nevertheless legal. There’s nothing we can do to dispute the legality of the marriage, and as such his claim overrides our claim toward your father’s estate. In addition to refusing our claim, his lawyers are also demanding we return you to him.”
As a horrified expression flashes across her features, I remind myself to warn Malishka never to play poker, because her face is an open book. We all watch as she internally questions if we’d give her to him. Then she remembers what we’ve done to get her here, and how many times we’ve vowed we’ll never let her go, and her features harden into determined anger.
“So, what do we do now?” she asks.
We. Fuck, I love that. Not you or I, but we. Us, the four of us, our family. She’s asking how our family will deal with this. Fucking perfection.
“We’ve sent word of our shock at finding out you’re already married, and have agreed to deliver you back to your husband if he’s willing to meet us in Alaska.”
“So what…? I’m actually going to be bait now?”
“No. You and Lev will stay here. Vik and I, along with our men and a woman who will pose as you, will all go to Alaska.”
“Does he even know what I look like? What happens when he realizes it’s not me?” she asks snarkily.
“While him and his men are busy realizing you’re not there, we’ll plant a bomb on his jet and the moment he hits international waters, we blow the fucker up,” Vik tells her excitedly.
Her jaw actually drops open and she looks between the three of us, like we’re speaking a foreign language.
“Excuse me?”
“Bomb. Big bang.” Vik laughs, miming an explosion with his hands.
