Taking Emmaline: Power of Vashchenko Book 1 Read online

  He does look up to me then. I gaze out the window, watching as we slice through the blue sky, and the clouds part like butter.

  “We were homeless for six months. Jumping from shelter to shelter until, for one moment in time, luck was on our side, and an apartment building needed a manager.” I smile remembering that time of our lives. “It was housing for the elderly. If the owner hadn’t been desperate, we never would have gotten it. But I was so quiet during the interview, he forgot I was there.”

  “Quiet my ass,” he mutters with a small grin, and I smile back.

  “You don’t think I can be silent?” He doesn’t say or do anything, continuing his ignorance of me. “Mom couldn’t fix a leaky faucet to save her life, but Dad was handy around the house, and I had learned a thing or two.”

  “How old?” he asks, shocking me.

  “Ten,” I respond, and his eyes widen. Obviously, they don’t have much knowledge about me or my life. “I couldn’t do everything, but the residents were so kind to us both. I almost miss it.” Melancholy hits me square in the chest. “I miss being a family more.” Sadness envelops me, and I suddenly feel exhausted. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know I’ll do everything I can to get back to my mom. She’s the only family I have left.

  * * *

  Viktor

  I got word a couple of hours ago that my babushka, Dora, was welcomed warmly into the Taylor home, and Nikolai has Emmy on the plane with him. We’ve been texting back and forth since they hit the air. Niko wants to tell her what her father has done, explain what’s happening. I’ve forbidden it.

  Niko: Her life wasn’t easy.

  Me: Stop talking.

  I hate that he’s getting information from her.

  Niko: Sorry, brat, she’s scared and seems to talk to ease herself.

  Fuck.

  Me: Keep it impersonal. I want it all.

  Niko: Then maybe you should have been the one to pick her up instead of me.

  “Motherfucker!” I scream into the room.

  “Careful, Viktor, or someone might think you have emotions.” Danika, my sister, enters the room with a grin on her face.

  “What do you want?” I snap at her. I found Danika in an orphanage when she was fifteen, so she doesn’t understand all of my mother tongue, but enough to make out what I mean.

  “Watch it, brat.” Dimitri, one—yeah, fucking one—of her men comes walking in behind her, quickly followed by the other, Daniel.

  “English, guys,” Daniel reminds. He gets annoyed when we speak our native tongue, but the fucker does it right back with his Italian just to piss us off because Nika is a woman of many talents, and she knows both languages well enough to get by.

  “You’re taking her away from here, yes?” Dimitri asks, and I sense an urgency in his tone.

  “What do you know?” I narrow my gaze at the man as he wraps an arm around my sister just as she’s embraced by Daniel from behind.

  “Enough to know the Haggens are on their way to this country and don’t intend to flee like they did in Russia.” I watch the anxiety cross my sister’s face at the same instant anger slashes across Dimitri and Daniel’s. They went to hell and back to bring her home when she was taken from our family church in Moscow on a trip to the motherland.

  “Goddamn fucking Germans!” It’s time to extinguish these fuckers once and for all.

  “Our thoughts exactly,” Daniel snarls. The man—young as he looks—exudes more bravery than most men. Even injured, he took on three of the top family members on his own to get to my sister. Their gallantry is the only reason I’ve allowed her to take both men as her own.

  Needing to concentrate on something else before I blow my cool, I ask, “Does Adair approve of you working both sides?”

  Dimitri smirks. “King considers it more as a benefit. He keeps an eye on you, and he won’t have another problem like McCray.”

  “Suka.” I spit on the ground. That man was a dreamer with no execution. Adair was far too kind in his swift death.

  Danika separates from her men and wanders over to me. “Be kind to her, Viktor.” She leans up and kisses my cheek.

  “What do you know?” I narrow my gaze.

  The blasted woman smirks as she leaves the room without answering. “Fuck!” I brush a harsh hand down my face and decide to open the file Kodiak, my head of security, has compiled on Emmaline Taylor and read about her while I await her arrival.

  As soon as the folder is opened, her photo falls free and leaves me breathless once again. Her beauty is that of a Russian princess. Soft, elegant, graceful. She’s not in-your-face gorgeous but more of a hidden gem.

  I read through her statistics and learn that she is graduating high school in a couple of weeks. For a split second, I reconsider my decision to claim her as my own. Her father owes me an enormous debt, and while I desire Emmy, I will not force her to stay should she not reciprocate the feelings. Though, I will do everything in my power to coax her to remain by my side.

  Reading about her mother saddens me. I recall my own family’s demise. Being slain for not wanting to become dirty business, for wanting a better life. Love can do strange things to people, and until I saw Emmy’s picture, I never would have considered claiming someone who I wasn’t attracted to on any more profound level than lust. She calls to me, though, and the idea of not having her by my side is unfathomable.

  Reading that they moved around a great deal after Marshall abandoned them angers me. She was a child, and they likely had no choice but to move often. Leaving rents unpaid and bills stacked up. The older Taylor woman’s credit is deplorable.

  That is something I can control.

  Lifting the phone from my desk, I hit the speed dial button for Kodiak and wait for him to pick up. “Da?”

  “Pay the mother’s debts,” I order him.

  “Everything?” He seems shocked by my request.

  “Da. Leave nothing unpaid. The house, too.” I see no point in allowing any more worries for the girls. “Find out what Emmy needs to finish her schooling from here, too.”

  “I understand.” He hangs ups after agreeing.

  Kodiak is a man of few words most days. He finds the English language exhausting, and it annoys him to no end when I choose to speak it, and he rarely engages. So, I usually give him what he wants.

  The sound of car doors slamming draws my attention to the window, and I watch as Niko escorts a nervous-looking Emmy up the opulent steps to the ornate doors as her gaze searches the grounds.

  Not wanting to intimidate her, I leave my office and greet them at the door. The sucker punch to my gut as her grassy-hued gaze meets mine is unexpected. I’m drawn into her aura as she steps through the entrance, and all I want to do is hide her away in my room for days.

  The stirring in my cock isn’t as unexpected because I’ve known of my attraction to her. The pounding pulse with each breath stuns me for a second, however.

  “Krasivaya,” I mutter, stepping closer to her and offering my hand. My beautiful guest backs away and closer to Nikolai. For the first time in our lives, I have the urge to kill my best friend. “What the hell is this?” I snap at the man, giving him a deadly look many of my enemies have caved to.

  Niko places a hand on Emmy’s back and guides her to me, laughing, “Careful, brat, you scare her.” Scaring her? Fuck that I am. I should be scaring his big ass.

  “Get out.” I tell him to leave. I want Emmy to myself. His amusement follows him into the den, where Kodiak is searching for any debts to the Taylor family.

  Emmy doesn’t say a word as I guide her to my office, and frustration begins to eat at me. Offering her a seat on the couch by the window, her gaze never wavers from me as I make a call to the kitchen to have a late dinner prepared for her.

  “Niko told you something you do not like?” I ordered him not to tell her why she was being brought to me, but the man has a big mouth at times.

  She frowns, and her eyes water.

  �
�Do not cry, beauty.” I try to sound soothing, but it comes out more like a command.

  “I don’t understand Russian,” she whispers as the first lone tear tracks down her cheek.

  Son of a bitch. See, I slip back into it without thought. “Apologies, Emmy. I am Viktor Vashchenko. It is a pleasure to have you in my home.” I have to make a concentrated effort to speak English while making a note to find a tutor to help her learn Russian.

  “Why am I here?” Her voice is soft like the waves off the coast of Italy. It draws me in.

  “Marshall Taylor is your father, da?” She nods. “Marshall owes me a great deal of money.” She looks down, and before she can speak, telling me she has nothing, I continue. “Your father is a kiska. He has no morals.” I slice a hand through the air as I pace back and forth in front of her. I can see Emmy’s confusion. “He wants into a large poker game. The buy-in is much more than he could ever dream of affording.”

  “Oh god!” She sees where I’m going with this. “What did he do?” Pure terror takes hold of her.

  Dropping to my knees in front of her, I grip her hands in one of my own, and the difference in size awakes the beast in me. This woman, she needs me, needs my protection, moya lyubov’.

  “He made me a deal.” All the color drains from her face. “You in exchange for the buy-in.” She looks like she may pass out.

  * * *

  Emmy

  You, for the buy-in.

  His words, spoken in a thick baritone that I find could soothe me in my darkest of days, also terrify me.

  My father sold me.

  His daughter.

  His own flesh and blood.

  Sold like cattle. Like I’m just a piece of flesh.

  “I am an honest man, Emmy.” Viktor’s words, his beautiful voice, drag me from my misery.

  “An honest man?” I repeat; he nods. His face looks like chiseled granite. He’s hard, rough around the edges. His eyes, though dark and swirling full of something I can’t identify, beg me to believe him.

  “I want to see him,” I challenge, and I’m so foolish for thinking I could demand anything of Viktor. “Please, Viktor,” I whisper, relishing the feel of his name on my tongue. A wide grin appears on his face.

  “Yes, moya lyubov’.” I close my eyes when he speaks because if I don’t, I might just fall into him and beg him to speak Russian to me all day long.

  He stands, walks to his desk and picks up a phone. “Niko, bring me Marshall.” Then, he slams it down just as fast. “Niko will bring him.”

  “He’s here?” I don’t understand why this brings me so much anxiety. Knowing that for years, he was never around, and now, in a matter of minutes, he will be. Fear strikes my heart once again.

  “I will be beside you,” Viktor says, and I feel like he means that more than just in the flesh. Gripping my hands in his once again, I register the same jolt as before. He brings me to my feet. “He cannot hurt you, moya lyubov’.” His hands shift, one going to my neck, and his thumb rubs so gently. I close my eyes and lean against his chest. I don’t understand this draw I have to him or why he’s being so kind when he admitted to already owning me. He can do as he pleases with me, and I won’t be able to fight him.

  “Boss.” Niko’s voice has my head turning, and there, in front of him, is the man who left my life in shambles.

  “Forgive me,” Viktor whispers in my hair, making me frown again before he turns to the men entering the room. “He is not sitting at the card table. After this, he is gone. I don’t want to see him again.” He spits the words out with so much venom I struggle to keep up; not that I understand a word he says anyways.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, looking up to Viktor’s hardened face. Since meeting him, he’s had a look of devotion about him,—dare I hesitate to see it, even—but now, it’s pure hatred. All aimed at my father.

  “Not for you to worry about. Say to him what you like.” Without letting go of his hold on me, Viktor moves to stand behind me. It feels as though he’s supporting me.

  “Emmy.” Marshall smiles, relief on his face. But I get the feeling it’s not from me being here. “I’m so glad you came.”

  Why is all I can think to ask. My mind is swirling with so many unasked questions, but why seems to cover them all.

  “Why?” He frowns like it’s an unreasonable question.

  “Why what?”

  “Anything.” I glare at him as his frown deepens. He has no idea what his abandonment has done to us. “Why are you glad I’m here? Why did you leave? Why now?” My questions are rushed.

  His gaze darts around the room, and I’m so angry that, still, he’s looking for someone else to bail him out of trouble. “Because you’re my daughter, and I’ve missed you.”

  The way he answers sounds more like a question than a statement.

  “You traded my life for a fucking poker game!” I scream and tear away from Viktor’s grip. My agitation vibrates through me as I turn my back on the room and stand in front of the large window.

  Silence surrounds me, and I feel like I’m suffocating. Viktor’s presence as he walks up beside me, not touching me or even invading my space but supporting me, gives me some of my control back.

  “The choice is yours.” I love listening to him speak Russian, but I stare at him blankly. It’s then he frowns, and I have the urge to smooth the flesh between his eyes. “Nyet,” he mutters. “You decide his fate, moy.”

  “His fate,” I repeat. I hate this.

  I hate how my father’s come back into my life. How I’m left to pick up the continuously falling pieces he leaves by failing to be a responsible human being.

  “Da,” Viktor responds. He crosses his arms, and I turn back around to face my father.

  “If he doesn’t play in your stupid game, does that mean I’m free?” I stare my father in the eye and see panic, but my question is for Viktor.

  “Nyet.” The harsh intensity in the single word is conveyed so acutely that I feel it to my bones.

  “So, no matter what happens here, I’m stuck?” I should be slightly more terrified than I currently am because, obviously, these men, Viktor, Nikolai, and the other fellow I saw for a quick second, aren’t law-abiding citizens. They deal in an underground life that I know nothing about.

  “Da,” the man who is trying to claim me confirms.

  “I don’t…” I’ve never been one to throw a hissy fit or tantrum, but I’m seconds away from dropping to the ground and screaming all of my fears out.

  * * *

  Viktor

  “Take him out.” I hiss at Niko. Seeing Emmy so torn up about her situation—the one I won’t release her from—makes me want to smash Marshall’s face in.

  I dislike seeing her in pain, but even if Marshall takes back his deal, I’ll never let her go. I can’t. Not after seeing her photograph and then holding her in my arms. Inhaling her fresh wildflower scent reminds me of the flower fields in Russia.

  Emmaline is home.

  My home.

  And I can’t let her go. There isn’t a force in the universe who could make me give her up. Not in life. Not in death.

  “No! Wait! We had a deal!” Marshall screams as Niko picks him up by the collar. “Em, sweetheart, please,” he begs.

  The man doesn’t see what I do, though. In Emmy’s eyes is a hatred so ingrained that she wouldn’t save him from hell.

  “Please, what, Marshall? You destroyed my mother. She still loves you. She hasn’t moved on, but you? You’ve forgotten about her, haven’t you?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that.” The hardened tone she portrays makes me proud. Young, she may be. Innocent, she used to be. Until this kiska left her alone to take care of a mother unprepared to raise a child on her own.

  “Come, Marshall, you have a date.” Niko laughs as Kodiak re-enters the room, laptop in hand.

  “You have something?” I ask him. He nods as Marshall tries to worm his way out of Niko�
�s hold.

  “Da. Marshall has a home in Jersey City under Kelsey’s name. I’ve sent some men to go have a look,” he relays.

  “What about my mother?” Emmy looks concerned.

  Cupping her cheek, I murmur, “Nothing for you to worry about, moya lyubov’,” but I can see her anger ignite.

  “That’s my mother. I will always worry. Especially when you speak about her in a language I don’t understand, Viktor.” She spits my name like a curse, and I dislike the tone.

  “Out!” I shout to my men, wanting the room clear for what I’m about to do. My desire to claim her will not outweigh my strict command of the Vashchenko Clan.

  Emmy jumps at the booming sound of my voice as everyone leaves. She watches as I pace the room, anger swirling inside of me.

  “This”—I sweep my arms around the room—“is mine. You do not control what happens here, Emmaline. You may ask questions, but you do not make demands. Not of me.”

  Emmy’s blank stare as I turn back around fools only the weakest men. The ones who don’t understand how to read a woman about to come unglued, no matter the possible danger to their safety.

  “I don’t get to make demands.” She repeats the words in the same way Danika does when I piss her off. The problem is, Nika knows how volatile I am and will walk away. My Emmy knows nothing.

  “Then what do I get to do, Viktor Vashchenko? Can I sit? Like a dog. Perhaps fetch like one, too. Or maybe you want me to spread my legs like a whore.”

  “Nyet!” I snap. Perhaps it is I who knows nothing. “Do not say such filth again,” I command, and her glare narrows.

  “So, then tell me…what can I do? What is appropriate for me to say if you have such control over who I am and what I’ll be doing now.”

  I do not understand her fury. She is mine; I only wish to take care of her. “What I need from you, Emmaline Taylor”—I step towards her, and I want to grin at her defiance. She does not back away from me—“is for you to show this backbone.” I walk her backwards until she is forced into the bookcase behind her. “I want for you to maintain complete control over who you are when you are with me.” I lean forward, burying my head in her neck and kissing along her erratic pulse. “I want for you to know my word is law, and even though you can command any man under my employee, you do not get to command me in front of anyone.”