Vik (Shot Callers 2)

It took approximately three minutes before it hit me like a brick to the face.

As ecstasy left me, shame took its place.

I felt the exact moment Vik noticed the change in me, and his arms loosened their hold. With a disappointed sigh, he pulled out of my body, letting our combined releases drip down between my thighs.

Before I even had a chance to gather my thoughts, Vik bent down a moment, took my hand, and placed my panties into my open palm, curling my fingers around them, and when he spoke next, his tone was heavy with frustration. “I don’t get you. One second, you’re hot, and next, you’re cold.”

I didn’t turn.

No. Like a coward, I kept myself facing the wall. Kept my back to him.

The sound of his zipper lifting had my sad eyes shutting tightly. “You need to stop and assess.” He buckled his belt. “Decide what you want from me.” And at last, he sighed wearily. “Because I’m tired, Nas.”

So was I.

It was a bone-deep weariness. The kind where you can barely keep your eyes open. Like living life in a vacuum.

He closed the space between us, and I felt him hesitate. When he put a gentle hand to my hair and stroked lovingly, as much as it healed, it burned.

The melancholy in his words flayed me. “I know I haven’t been myself, and I’m sorry for that. I got regrets as much as the next person. But it doesn’t alter the facts.” His pause was slight. “You’re my girl. Always have been, always will be. Nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Quietly, he took the few steps away from me, opened the door, and left me to my thoughts. On shaky legs, I stepped back into my panties, pulled them up, re-did the buttons between my legs then promptly made my way out of the closet and down the hall. Walking into Sasha’s office, he took one look at me and stood, appearing somewhat like a disappointed parent.

“Finally,” he uttered, then asked, “You want to explain to me why you almost scalped Lush?”

“Martha,” I uttered roughly, walking over to the locker and retrieving my purse. “Her name is Martha.”

“I don’t give a fuck what her name is, Nas.” Sash pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s already talking about her—” He scoffed at the word. “—'injuries,’ like she might consider litigation. So, sit down and talk to me.”

No. I wouldn’t be doing that.

When I turned and sauntered away, my brother called out, “Where are you going? Nastasia?”

But I was barely hanging on by a thread and when I walked the long hall and passed the bar, Anika mouthed, “Are you okay?”

Disregarding everyone and everything, I strode out the back to the parking lot, where I got into my car and drove home.

And that was where I stayed for three whole days.

On the fourth morning, I woke up and stupidly picked a battle I might not have been able to win.

20

Nastasia

Maybe I should have been more guarded and vigilant, but I’d had it.

It was officially enough.

I used to be a different person. One who knew what she wanted. So, I thought about what that girl would have done about her situation. Thought about how she would have fought. How she might have stepped on a few toes to get what she wanted. And that girl? She would have gotten what she came for.

It made me sick that I’d become half the woman I used to be.

I was a mob princess, for crying out loud. I knew how to use a gun. I had beaten both men and women bloody. My bedroom game was hot. I was a freaking fox.

And I couldn’t keep my man?

Yeah. I don’t think so.

That was not going to fly.

So, I did what I had to. And that was why I waited until he left the house before I snuck out of Anika’s room and stole into the basement, into his quarters, where I began to snoop.

If Vik wasn’t willing to tell me what was going on, I was going to have to find out myself.

My gaze swept over the bookcases and shelves. I opened drawers and went through his closet, recollections assaulting me from left and right. Every item of clothing had a memory attached to it, his scent heavily embedded in each article. Every movie on the shelf, we’d watched together. The manga I pulled off the bookcase was creased from the number of times he read them. I’d sat at his desk, on that very chair, and responded to his emails as he slept off a rough night. I lost count of the number of times I sat up in that bed while he rested his head in my lap, me running my fingers through his hair as he pressed soft kisses to wherever his lips could reach. We’d spent countless days and nights in that bed, and not only for sex but talking and laughing and touching. Just being close to each other. Simply being together.