Fearless: a Sports Romance Read online

  “Block me, bitch,” I order, though this is no longer a sparring match.

  His attempts to protect his face are for shit. Arms are at my left and right. It’s Nestor and one of the gym employees pulling me off of the douche bag.

  The fighter jabs toward my chin, just shy of his mark before falling on his back again.

  “You crazy?” Vadim asks. “I have a potential booking for him in a few days. He's gonna look like a bitch, Vassili.”

  “Yuri, why didn't you hop your fat ass in the cage,” says a very familiar voice behind us.

  “Ah, Pops, I'm not an idiot,” Yuri’s heavy body shifts in his seat. His nose is glued to a Hustler magazine

  I glare at him before turning around to address Malich. My hand goes to the back of my uncle’s neck. His goes to mine. He pats softly. “We missed you for dinner the other night.”

  I start to make up a lie, but Malich says, “So you and Anatoly have a good time this weekend, eh?”

  My fucking father! He had to have called his kid brother, just a subtle warning that I am to watch Malich. Keep his brother on the up and up. The smiles on Malich's face tells me that he doesn't give a damn. We are good. I didn't swoop in and leave him high and dry. Evidently he is still breathing.

  My uncle nods his head toward the stairs. “I'm hungry, Vassili. You can eat, right?”

  “Fuck yeah. I have to hit the showers first.”

  “All right. Vadim, your wife cook? Vassili and I are going to stop by.”

  “Yeah, she cooked. Shit, Vassili can watch you eat, this mudak tried to injure my fighter before a big match.” He mutters about fucking with his money and Malich laughs.

  “C’mon, Vadim, I'm your favorite.” My hand goes to the back of his neck. “You fucking love me.”

  “I cannot stand you, but yeah, I guess I love you.” He pats the back of my neck quickly and then he's back to cussing. This time his wrath is toward his MMA fighter, arguing about him needing to be a bull. It's always bull this or bull that.

  I head to the locker room, wondering just what Anatoly told Malich. Had to be a simple warning…or nothing at all. I told my father nothing

  ###

  Dressed in a long sleeve shirt and khakis, I saunter down the second level to the first of Vadim’s Gym. In the alley, Yuri is leaning against Malich's SUV. The window is down. They're speaking in Russian, low and quick. The squawk of seagulls further obstructs my hearing.

  When I step up to the passenger’s side, Malich is all smiles.

  “I tried to get this motherfucker to let me go with you all. I'm hungry too,” Yuri pats his belly. “But Pop gives me another assignment instead.”

  “That so,” I reply, half listening as I open the door and hop inside.

  Yuri backs away from the SUV.

  “What's troubling you, son,” Malich asks. “Your grandfather never fought angry. MMA is different from boxing, but that's one of the most fundamental parallels. Don't fight angry. Where's your head at?”

  These are his normal questions of concern. Had it been Anatoly inquiring, my brain would be in overload with suspicion.

  “I'm thinking about a girl.” Yeah, it's true. Though I was actually concentrating on Sasha, now, I consider the girl I'm obsessed with. Where will I take Zariah tonight? And what the fuck is my father doing telling Malich I visited?

  “Shit, you in love?”

  I nod. “First sight.”

  “Only you, Vassili. What was it, some odd years ago…” he pauses in contemplation while stopping at the red light. “Had to be a year after you went pro. You were moving your way up from not making a dime—fighting for fucks. You were in love at first sight then.”

  My relationship with my uncle was that close. I told Malich about Zariah. Her best friend, Ronisha. He had Sergio's body disposed of. He was proud of my work. He said it was pure torture. Pure hate. And to tell him I did Sergio in for a woman; that he said was priceless.

  “The same girl.”

  “Did you even… Never mind, you didn't fuck and tell even when a bitch stumbled outta your bedroom when you were fifteen.” He chuckles. “As a matter of fact, I didn't think you did. It's all a woman has over us.”

  His laughter dims. Malich’s mind is on his wife. Contemplating my late aunt. She got sick and died long before I moved to the States. I remember them visiting Moscow during New Year’s, which is the biggest deal for us Russians. They were always happy, always in love. I never thought a man so deep into the crime syndicate could have a heart. With my father and younger brothers as my main example, I thought only I was stupid enough to care about the female race. Malich loved his wife in the way my mudak of a father was incapable of giving a damn about my mom or Sasha.

  My poor sister…

  “So, you were chatting with the girl before you even moved out, Vassili.” Malich breaks the silence, apparently the years have allowed him to cope with his pain, whereas I’m accustomed to keeping Sasha from my mind. “That's a long time to know a girl.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? That’s all?” He laughs. “Kids these days… Shit, you aren't even a kid any longer, but you stay with your mouth shut. Your grandfather took me to my first whorehouse when I got a bit of fuzz on my balls. He said to put on a rubber. That was the extent to our chat about love life. I’m genuinely interested. You two have been off and on?”

  “Zariah’s been out of L.A. for a while now,” I offer.

  “Any plans?”

  “Dinner.” I huff. Keeping Zariah from my family and keeping her won’t be easy. “I’m taking her to dinner tonight. Not sure where.”

  “Well, your first name is golden at most of the ritzy spots on Rodeo Drive. And wherever it isn't, just mentioning you're a Resnov will place you on tonight's RSVP, which often takes a year at those crappy places. Shit, The Red Door is better.”

  “I took her there.” I glance out the window, so he doesn't connect the fact that me being at The Red Door prompted my travel to Russia.

  “What did the girl think of your place?”

  “She loved it.” I shrug. “It's gonna be warm tonight. Not that blocking off the roof will force me to go broke…”

  “Far from it.”

  “I want her alone. I don't like to have my woman around others, not now.”

  “Then cook her a good meal,” he says, simply pulling to a stop in front of Vadim’s home.

  I pat the back of his neck. “I'm gonna cook her a good meal!”

  “See, your old dyadya is good for something.”

  Zariah

  On Monday morning, I called my father’s friend at the Levine and Son law firm, and explained the confusion. Simply put, Maxwell was doing the most, knowing good and well I had already warmed my way into his old colleague’s law firm.

  Instead, I drove to Billingsley Legal, a much newer, less revered family focused legal firm bright and early. My plan to work part-time and then spend the rest of my day studying for the impending bar exam this July, was set in full swing. Though Monday, my father and I went in search of an apartment, the next few days are filled with bar exam material and work. And what's even sadder about my pathetic existence? Ronisha and I have grown apart. We met at Panera Bread on Wednesday evening, but I didn't have much to talk about.

  ***

  My hair has crinkled and shrunk into a curly Afro after a deep conditioning in the shower. I'm dressed in silk pajamas shorts and camisole. The sheer drapes bellow into the bedroom adding delectable coolness to my dewy brown skin. I scan my bookshelf for something old school, skimming across ”Flyy Girl”, which is sandwiched between two high school favorites, “The Great Gatsby” and “Leaves of Grass.” Nothing in this world can persuade me that love exists besides books and certain songs. The songster who introduced me to love was D’Angelo back in his Angie Stone days. Though I'm not convinced love is attainable to all—my mom, Ronisha and so many girls I cross paths with on a daily basis being the prime example—he had a dreamy way of making me c
rave love.

  My fingertips skim over my old romance collection, searching for the book which always coupled well with D’Angelo and placing my heart in that fall-in-love state of mind.

  “It’s 8:20, Zariah,” Vassili’s hard voice is so very near and tangible.

  I spin around on the balls of my feet. “Vassili, have you lost your damn mind!”

  “We had a date at eight. You still didn’t touch your pussy the way it was meant to be touched in the shower.”

  “Boy—”

  “Do you know what stopped me from stepping into that bathroom and taking what’s mine?” His voice is smooth, low, and lush. Jeans encase bulging thighs, in a wide-legged stance. Wife beater straining over stacks of chest muscles with a trendy blazer amplifying his sexy, bad-ass persona by infinity. Devilish good looks, and has the nerve to have a cross around his neck.

  He is seated on the ottoman on the veranda outside of my bedroom. The expensive bottle of scotch my father keeps under lock and key, dangling in his hand. “Respect, Zariah. Respect stopped me from stepping into the bathroom as you showered fully naked. Heavenly pussy drenching wet while you massage brown sugar. Is it brown sugar soap or do you fucking smell as good as brown sugar?”

  Lump lodged in my throat, I mumble, “Actually pink Himalayan salt scrub.” I shake the cobwebs from my brain at that. Why the hell did I just answer this deranged man’s question? “Why are you here?”

  “It’s Thursday, sweetheart. I’ve never been a prompt person until I met you.” His eyes roam across my body. This is what happens when I call Vassili’s bluff. Looking like a hot mess, shame on me. I was going to comb my hair in a few braids after choosing an old book. Yet, I underestimated this man once again.

  “Oh, good for you.” I grin. “When I move from here, it will be into a cheap ass apartment on the highest floor. No balcony. No damn trees for you to climb, either. Good luck, asshole.”

  His frown deepens. “You aren't moving anywhere unless it's with me.”

  “You are so used to having the last word, I know good and damn well you aren't trying to give me the key to your home.” I shove a hand through my hair, coifing my coiled afro, and assure him, “You were always good running game. Telling me how pretty my pussy was but that you’re a bad guy. Whateva!”

  “That's far from true. You refuse to give me a chance because your squeaky-clean father will be running for mayor?” He arches a thick, sexy eyebrow.

  “Wow, am I that sadidy?” My mouth tenses. “In a nutshell, yes. Among an entire list of issues. You know what, Vassili, having you around has helped brush up on my opening and closing remark. Although, grounded in reality, I’m constantly defending my reasoning.”

  “You enjoy having me around.” At that, Vassili brings the bottle to his lips. His face is still set in a deep frown, yet a twinkle in his eye, tells me he loves screwing with my mind. Each gulp, he drains down even more of my father’s most prized alcohol.

  He stands up, towering over me. His breath is intoxicating, damn near capable of getting me drunk. I want to taste his lips.

  “You’re my good girl, Zariah.” His mouth brushes against the corner of mine. The subtle touch sparks like a wild fire, alighting my soul on fire. Then Vassili stands to his full height, my heart clinches.

  This time I'm in pursuit. His mouth was so close, teasingly as he promoted me to be good. But I crave the notion of being bad for him. My tongue dips out and licks the spiced goodness of his mouth. His lips are tender, with notes of whiskey, mint, and all man, entwined within.

  His hand grips my hair, fingers wringing around the ultra-coiled strands. His dark gaze is deadly as he searches mine. “I’m a bad man, Zariah. Let me be honest about my intentions. I’ll never deliberately hurt you, beautiful, but the second I touch you, I’ll tarnish you. I’ll ruin you for the good guy you’ve always dreamt of.”

  The way his hand clamps into my hair, I can’t reach up to kiss away his doubt.

  “You’re wrong, Vassili, I never dreamt of a knight in shining armor as a child. I've always been grounded in reality. Then I met you, all I ever wanted was you.” His mouth crashes down onto mine, had I even finished the statement? I rise to my tippy toes, coveting this feeling, needing it to last forever.

  No, needing it to expand, to blossom. Waves of pleasure electrify throughout my body. This is how I imagined it would be to kiss him. Yes, he tasted my mouth until I was speechless on the first night. But me clamping my hands along his face, thumb caressing that jagged scar on his jaw, me kissing him long, hard; I was ready for it to lead to things that grown folks do. But I was too afraid to be bad for him before.

  I was in awe, damned teenage awe while he caressed my pussy before, now my pussy is crying for the fighter. I'm not a kid anymore. And the way his tongue caresses mine tells me that he is aware that I'm all woman.

  His hand clutches the back of my neck. Ownership is freeing. Vassili presses his forehead against mine. His minty breath tingles across my nose. “Mhmmm, Zariah,” he groans, “I'm gonna feed you then I'm gonna eat you.”

  I lose all sight of rationale. My entire body is hot on fire and wet all at the same time. Yet, Vassili reels me back down to reality, ordering me to get dressed and pack an overnight bag.

  ###

  I had opted for my canvas duffle bag when Vassili told me to pack light. I ended up stuffing my old high school backpack to the brim because ‘packing light’ was anti-conducive to being prepared for any outing. I ended up on the backseat of a matte black Harley Davidson with modified chrome finishes and wide back wheel.

  Now, we’re in the kitchen of his beachfront home in Venice. My head cocks to the side, and I lick my lips. “No water?” I refer to his beloved vodka. Recalling the taste of whiskey on his lips not an hour ago. The twining of whiskey around his tongue took me into a tailspin and I have the inkling that Russian vodka might send me to the point of no return. It's like I'm tipsy off of his mouth.

  “Nah. No alcohol. You are my water.”

  Heat erupts over my body as I reminisce on the moment that Vassili licked the glossed juices from my pussy off of his finger. He’d said I tasted of water. I place my apple juice on the counter and remove the small glass of cranberry and vodka from his large, rough hand. I take it to the head, like a shot.

  It's smooth and makes me tingle down below the way Vassili laughs, a low growl of a laugh. “Sweetheart, I wanted you sober, best believe I'll be fully aware tonight too.”

  “Mmmm,” I moan as his hand goes to the back of my neck, claiming my mouth with his own. Dizzy butterflies take flight. A delightful fog descends over my brain until I yelp. “Dang, Vassili must you give me a heart attack?” I ask, cradled in his arms. It's as if every move he makes I am unable to gage. He's forever keeping me on my toes or in this instant, picking me up rather.

  He carries me along a hallway. It's dim and I note crystal sconces as we go. My heart is damn near beating out of my chest cavity. We. Are. Headed. To. His. Bedroom

  I'm as quiet as can be, conscious of every inhale and exhale of breath. Then I'm gingerly placed onto my own feet. Vassili presses the double doors.

  Now, I'm faintly aware that I can barely breathe at all as I take in the sight. Half of the room is glass walls. The dark ocean raging below. Stars twinkling to the same tune of a sea of scented candles. Not just any candles. Tapered ones. Chunky short ones. Tea candles and more. An array of thoughtfulness that Vassili considered when planning my first night.

  Tongue feeling like sandpaper, I inquire, “Aren't you supposed to feed me first?” Shit, I am a master debater. Not here. Not now. Now, I'm lost in him.

  “We will get to that,” is Vassili’s only response as he takes my hand and leads me to the bed. His wrist flicks and I am turned until my back is to the edge of the bed. I glance up at him. A million thoughts roaming through my mind. I want to please him, but I know that so many women have. How damn high has the bar been set?

  “This is all about you tonight.”
His words seem to tell me that my newness to sex is a jewel that he intends to cherish.

  His hand stakes hold to my large breast. Electricity shoots to my core as he squeezes through my silk camisole.

  I start to reach for the hem of my shirt.

  “Don't fucking think about it, Zariah,” he orders. There'll be no me undressing for him. “I've got everything covered. Tonight, you speak only if I'm doing something wrong. If you don't like the way I lick your pussy lips, by all means, cuss me the fuck out. If I don't dig deep,” he says, other hand slamming down onto my ass. “You'll let me know, won't you?”

  Vassili cocks an eyebrow. I hurry to nod my head.

  “Good girl.” His lips brush across my forehead. “You are my good girl.”

  My shirt is pulled over my head by him. And then he unzips my jeans, tantalizingly slow. He lowers his large frame, considerate while assisting me with removing one pant leg after the other.

  Onto the bed he places me. “With your legs closed, we won't ever get anywhere. Besides, we have to work our way up to me fucking you with your legs crossed, Zariah.”

  “Duly noted.” That sharp wit reminds me why I enjoy him so much. My own laughter douses me with a dose of confidence. “Maybe I want you naked too.”

  “Oh, you want me naked? As you wish.” His shirt swoops over his head. That wavy Mohawk of hair, flopping onto his forehead and then I glance at his chest. My mouth is drooling with saliva. He isn't overly muscular but I swear before God that He himself had a good time offering Vassili perfect genes. An eight pack, reinforcements on each side. With his other hand, he flicks open his jean button. Shit, Vassili doesn't pull his pants off. I'm left with the tease.

  Vassili reaches down to kiss me. His hands work beneath my back to unclasp my bra and I'm sprung free. When his fingers touch my thong, a burning sensation sets fire to my skin. His knuckles graze across the inside of my thong. He doesn't lift nor does he pull down my panties.

  There's a twinkle in his eyes as he catches my gaze.

  “You know I've waited seven years for my very first taste.”