Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

2

ADRIK

Fucking another guest’s date is probably bad etiquette.

Unfortunately for the illustrious Senator Waters, I don’t give a shit about etiquette. I’m going to feast on his fiancée’s sweet little pussy and then go laugh in his face with her taste on my lips.

I lead Emery down the central hallway of the house. The last door is my office. I open it and escort her inside.

“Drink?” I ask, gesturing to my bar cart. “I have… well, I have whiskey.”

“No, I’m fine.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It falls forward immediately.

“I can have a waiter bring you something from the party,” I offer. “Champagne? Wine?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t really drink.”

That explains Malcolm doing his best to shove a glass in her reluctant hand. Watching him touch her while he grinned like a ventriloquist dummy was almost too much to take. It was clear to anyone paying attention that Emery was with Malcolm against her will.

But no one else was paying attention.

Only me.

“No drink then,” I say. I sink into my seat and fix her with a gaze over the rim of my glass.

Emery stands in the middle of the office space. Her hands are clasped behind her back. She’s fidgeting back and forth, looking everywhere but at me.

I let the silence do the work for me. She twists in it, uncomfortable.

Then, finally, she speaks up. “I don’t mean to judge, but—”

I laugh. “This is you not being judgmental? I believe you called me a—what was it?—oh, yes: a ‘sick, deluded pig.’ I’d hate to see what happens when you do judge.”

She blushes beet-red and laughs, but it dies quickly. So much sadness in this one. If I were a kinder man, I’d ask her what her sorrows are.

Seeing as how I’m Adrik Tasarov, though, what I’m going to do instead is fuck them out of her.

“I was only going to say that, looking around your house, you seem like the kind of man who enjoys quality,” she says. “You seem like the kind of man who can have whatever he wants.”

I shrug and take a sip. “You aren’t wrong.”

“And I know we don’t know each other well, but…” She chews at her lower lip. It’s a thoughtless gesture to her, but it makes my cock twinge with desire. “I wondered if I might be able to ask you a favor.”

Her black dress falls low on her legs, but the material clings to her shape. Very little is left to the imagination. The neckline dips low, revealing the soft swell of her cleavage.

But the showstopper is the deep plunge in the back. It’s an endless expanse of creamy white skin. I can see the dimples pressed into her lower back just above the swell of her ass.

I want to stick my thumbs in those dimples, grip those hips, and slam my—

A knock at the door severs my train of thought. I grip my whiskey glass so hard I think it might shatter.

"Fuck off," I bark. "I'm not doing business tonight."

"Luckily, I'm here for pleasure," someone coos from the other side of the door. The voice is obviously male, but playing at being female.

The only person I know idiotic enough to do that is…

"My brother," I tell Emery with a grimace. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

She sits down on the sofa in the corner, just out of sight of the door. I step into the hallway with my brother.

Yasha tries to peer around me and get a peek of Emery, but I close the door before he can.

"What do you want?" I growl.

"Did I interrupt something?" He doesn't look sorry at all. "You know, as one of the hosts and the eldest Tasarov son, you really should be out there mingling with our guests."

"I was about to mingle with a guest.”

He laughs. "Well, that's quite the party favor you're handing out. There will be a lot of happy women if you intend to mingle with every guest who—"

"I don't have time for this," I interrupt. "Actually, what I don't have is the patience for it. If you're just here to be a pain in the ass, then excuse me while I—"

"Papa wants to see us. Both of us."

I study his expression, but there's no hint of what this could be about. "Right now?"

Yasha shrugs. "That's what he said. I'm the messenger sent to fetch you."

There's a note of bitterness, but he hides it well. Yasha always was skilled at burying his true feelings. It's a useful ability when it isn't getting him into trouble.

I sigh and follow him down the same hallway I just walked with Emery. But instead of turning back towards the ballroom, Yasha leads me deeper into the house.

Vadim Tasarov may have opened his doors for this party, but he wouldn’t be caught dead attending. Charm was never one of his strengths. He told me repeatedly over the years that I took after my mother in that regard.

“A smile sharper than a blade,” he always said. “Your mother’s was just as deadly.”

He prefers the shadows. Mystery is my father’s trademark. People fear what they do not know—and no one fully knows my father.

Not even his sons.