I want more.
I want every broken shard, every breath, every goddamn thought she ever has.
I want the thing she guards, the thing no one’s ever touched.
Her fucking heart. And I want it now.
22
WOLFGANG
Iwait outside while Victoria gets ready. Lighting up the only cigarette I’m allowing myself this week, I inhale the nicotine and tilt my head to the sky as I exhale. It’s a filthy habit I started for no other reason than to make my mind shut up, especially late at night.
Ever since Victoria came along, I haven’t needed it as much. The only reason I’m doing it now is because I can’t be thinking about her sweet little ass.
I want to take her out, give her something new to look forward to—she’s been locked in here long enough. And if I get a hard-on again while I wait, and she comes outside looking perfect, all I’d do is take her right back. Rip whatever pretty dress she puts on, and lose myself between her legs a few more times.
So I breathe in the deadly substance, trying my damndest to clear my mind when voices get my attention from the garden wrapping around the house.
“…disappear with those lowlifes you call friends, while I’m here, all by myself, trying to salvage your future!” Ekaterina says.
Mikhail chuckles. “There is no future for us lowlifes, Mother. Now, is that all? Or do you want to waste some more of my time?”
The cigarette burns in my hand, reducing itself to ashes.
“You know what, Mikhail? Maybe your father is right to see things this way. Maybe you’ll truly never be as good as Wolfgang. God, it’s like you’re not even fucking trying–”
Movement catches my eye to my right, my wife approaching my side, looking absolutely flawless. Her soft, cream-colored dress, skin-tight, molds perfectly to her beautiful curves and breasts, no straps, my collar tight on her neck. The material has some sort of minuscule glitter particles in it, because she shines with every move she makes.
Her platinum hair is down and wavy, and she even put some makeup on—smoky eyes and faintly contoured lips that make her look like a goddamn supermodel. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I hate how much I need her to know it. I’m only just realizing I can make my wife shine to the true power she harbors inside her. A raw, primal need pulses through my chest, wanting me to keep doing it.
I smile to myself, choosing not to bother with what I just overheard in the garden. Whatever it was, it can wait. I just want to get the fuck out of this madhouse.
I take her hand, tapping a finger to my mouth to silence her as I lead her away from the scene and back into the driveway. When we’re too far from them to hear us, she asks–
“What was that all about? They’re… fighting?”
I open the door to the passenger side for her. “They don’t always see eye to eye.”
She bites her lower lip, eyes sliding back over to the garden, as if she can see them.
“You know, maybe you could find some middle ground with him.”
“With Mikhail? I told you, he and I–”
“I know. I know. It’s just… I don’t know. I was never close to my sister. And if she had thrown me a branch at any point, I would have taken it.”
I smile, loving how sweet and caring she is. With me, of all people.
“Let’s go.”
She tilts her head at me, as if to accuse me of not hearing her out. I am. But this conversation can wait.
***
The moment I help my wife out of the car, I know every man will look at her. And I know exactly how I’ll deal with it if they do.
I didn’t let Ilia drive us this time, wanting to be alone with Victoria. I don’t know why, since I didn’t initiate conversation, and she seemed to be elsewhere the entire ride. I kept wondering what she was thinking about, but never asked.
