Raze (Scarred Souls 1)

Alik was jealous that Luka had my heart.

When the three boys became teenagers, it all went to shit. In one fateful night, I lost Rodion and my Luka, leaving Alik the sole heir. That was when he immediately staked his claim on me.

Still now, at twenty-five, I missed Luka as if he’d just died yesterday. The pain was still as raw as the day I’d been told he was gone forever. A part of me just never believed that he did what he was accused of. I just couldn’t think him responsible for killing my brother.

“Keep your head up, miss, and the day will pass by just like any other,” Serge said sagely. Laying my head against the leather, I closed my eyes.

I was sick of so much loss… so much death.

Ten minutes later, after a silent journey, I entered the gym, my black-skirted business suit firmly in place, and headed to my office. I passed by the busy room of shirtless men training, punching bags, and lifting weights. I searched the room. A certain pair of light-blue possessive eyes locked onto mine and a slow, determined smile curled on a familiar set of lips.

Yiv, Alik’s trainer, was pushing him hard at a renegade, his every muscle in his tight, packed body straining with the technique. Throwing the fifty-pound dumbbells to the ground, the thud echoing around the gym, pulling fighters from their programs, Alik’s eyes flared with need and he thundered toward me—no, stalked toward me until I’d backed up into my office. Dropping the fighters’ personal files on the table, Alik stormed into the office, slamming the door and closed the blinds.

“Myshka,” Alik growled in a graveled, craving voice as his hungry gaze ate me up. His flushed skin glistened with the sweat from the intensity of his workout, his thigh muscles protruding under his shorts. “Fucking missed you last night, Myshka. Don’t like sleeping alone.”

My stomach churned with apprehension. I was always fearful of Alik when he was in one of these moods. He was always possessive, that was just how he was, but pumped by the workout’s fueling of his inner violence and his veins filled with The Dungeon’s fighters’ daily cocktail of creatine, protein shakes, and testosterone pills, Alik wanted to fuck me, own me… and do so as rough and as hard as possible.

Alik’s huge frame moved forward and cowed me. His hand reached out and in a second, he’d ripped the buttons from my jacket and hitched up my skirt, my ass now balanced on the lip of the table.

“Why do you look so sad, Myshka?” Alik asked coldly as my hands began to shake. Every year. Every year on this day I would endure one of his “hard fucks.” He knew I was sad that it was Luka’s birthday, and the jealous rage rooted in every fiber of his being always manifested on this day.

“Alik, baby. Please. I’m not sad.” I tried to soothe, but I felt his cock harden and rub up against my pussy.

Alik’s fingers dipped into my panties and began circling my clit as his other hand yanked off my bra, his mouth immediately sucking on my breast, only removing it to hiss, “You’re a fucking liar. You’re thinking of that murdering cunt.” His lip curled in disgust and he bit into my breast, causing me to cry out in pain. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck the sadness out of you. I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

He became this aggressive whenever we’d been apart, even if it was only for several hours, but on this day, I had to lie back and take whatever punishment he deemed fit.

Alik’s teeth again bit on my nipple. Then he wrenched his mouth away. “I go insane when you’re not near me, when I’m not all you’re thinking of. I go insane wondering what you’re doing, which fucker is watching you, picturing your pussy, him fucking this sweet cunt.”

Alik rammed his fingers into my channel, causing me to throw my head back and release a long strangled moan. His hard cock was suddenly free from his shorts. Taking my wrists, he pushed me flat on the table and slammed inside me with a guttural groan. He began pounding into me, teeth bared in pleasure, eyes burning with aggression.

Lifting his left hand while strumming my clit with his other, he grabbed my face and hovered above me. “You didn’t call me last night, Myshka. You fucked up. Did some fucker look at you last night? Did you talk to anyone? I couldn’t stop thinking about you out on the streets last night, men getting hard for what’s mine. You forgetting you got a man at home, a man that owns every fit piece of this body?”

My heart flipped as I pictured the man who had defended me. The large homeless man clutching a jar, the man I had dreamed about last night, the one I couldn’t get out of my head. The man I’d fallen asleep thinking of… forgetting to call Alik in the process—a grave mistake on my part.

Alik’s gaze hardened and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He could sense my lie. He knew, but no, how could he know? I had to reassure him, to assuage his concerns. Had to make him think it was all about him. Just him and me… no Luka and definitely no hooded rescuer.

“No, baby,” I whispered, my eyes rolling back as pressure from my approaching orgasm built between my legs. “Only you. Only ever you. I belong to you. You’ll have me forever soon.” My voice was frantic as I begged, strived to think of anything that would calm his jealous rage.

A crazed but satisfied hiss slipped through his lips, his thrusts picking up speed. “I own you, Kisa. There’ll never be anyone else for you but me. I fucking own these tits.” He squeezed on the plump flesh, ripping a cry from my throat. “I own this ass.” He continued as he slipped his hand under my ass and pushed his finger inside. I gripped his shoulders and dug my fingernails in deep at the unwanted sensation. Alik suddenly stilled and squeezed his hand tighter on my cheeks until the pain made tears well from my eyes. “And this cunt, this tight, wet cunt… Who owns it, Myshka? Who. Owns. It?”