HIS RUSSIAN CLAIM | 18+

01 | ANYA INAVOVA

I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL SOMEONE f***s THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF ME.

The air in here smells like sin. It carries the pungent smell of sweat, the faint smell of expensive perfume, and the choky smell of smoke and whiskey. The bass-beat from the underground club pulses through my body, and strobe lights shine across the dim room, catching glimpses of masks on everyone’s face, some glittered, leathered, or even skinned. People writhe against one another, touching each other’s bodies despite not knowing each other’s names. It’s an act of shamelessness, I must say, that these strangers are all engaging in s****l activities so openly, and mostly, in groups.

But who am I to judge when I’ve also come here to do something similar? When I’ve come here to sin since that’s exactly what I need right now?

And I’m not even meant to be here in the first place.

Despite being an exclusive members-only club where only the wealthy and powerful gain entry, L’Exil is not exactly the type of place my father would ever want to find me in. One would say it’s a form of protection from the dangerous masked men moving around, but I know better — that man gives no flying f***s about anyone but himself. Keeping me away from here is simply another way to control me, to protect his reputation, and avoid being leveraged by an enemy because his daughter being seen in a place where people explore sexually, even discreetly, is a very big scandal.

But then, I’ve never cared about this place, never thought of coming here throughout my life, and never even bothered about knowing the exact details of everything that goes down here.

So imagine how pissed Viktor Inavova is going to be when he finds out his daughter stole his own entry card and visited L’Exil — imagine how she’s going to be skinned alive for daring to disobey his word.

And I swear, I’m going to enjoy watching his reaction to the news. It might even be the most favorite thing I’ll see while alive because I may end up in a body bag.

I mean, wouldn’t my rebellion be worth it?

“Don’t you want to have your p***y kissed, barbie?” A low, sultry voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I blink, locking gazes with a pair of green ones through a feathered mask. “You look too pretty to be sitting alone here. Come with me and I shall pleasure you.”

I cringe at her failed attempt to seduce me and run my eyes over her figure. Curly, ginger hair cascades over her shoulders in loose curls, the tips stopping just above her arm, and on her body, is a green sequenced dress that has almost all her huge boobs spilled out of it.

With a small shake of my head, I tip her a forced smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not into women. Thank you.”

She looks like she might pass out from embarrassment, but her lips, coated with red lipstick curve into a small smile, and she bats her fake lashes in a way I assume is supposed to make me change my mind. Biting on her lower lip, she laughs, the sound forced. “I promise, you may want to try it out.” She twirls the tip of a strand of her hair. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be around, hun.” Then, she turns and walks away, her hips swaying in her dress.

I huff and look away, chugging down the remaining water in my glass before dropping it on the bar table.

“You’ve only had water since you arrived here, ma’am,” the scrawny bartender says before me. “What drink would you like to have?”

I wave my hand, tip him for the water, and look around the room. I need to be sober for whatever I have in my mind if I really want to enjoy it.

Father thinks he can control me. He thinks he can sit me down like a porcelain doll, tell me I’ll be getting married before the end of the week, and have me nod my head and agree willingly just because I’ve spent years being an obedient daughter, being the perfect mafia princess he wants. He thinks he owns my body. He thinks he owns me.

But I won’t be going down without a fight, and that happens tonight.

Tonight, I choose. Even if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do either before dying or given out to an old bastard for money, I’ll make sure the first hands that claim me aren’t chosen by Viktor Inavova. And tonight, I’ll make sure I do what my coward of a mother has never done and live my life, even a little.

Tugging my velvet mask tighter across my face, I get up from the stool and adjust my little black dress over my body, threading my fingers through my hair before fisting them beside me. With a deep breath, I walk past the crowd and head upstairs with no one in particular in my mind.

My legs are heavy as I walk up the stairs, but I don’t bother stopping because it’s now or never. If I stay down there, the night might just pass away and everything would end up being a waste of time. By the time I’m at the top of the stairs, there’s a sheen of sweat coating my forehead and a trail of it running down my back, and my lips curve into a smile as I scan the almost dark space before me.

Men’s eyes trail over my body, some bold, most suggestive, and whistles from the table a distance away from me reach my ears, but I don’t heed to them when I pass there. A hand brushes my hip, and I slip away. Another one reaches for my wrist, but I shake him off.

I might be in a hurry to get into bed, but I’m not that desperate to do that with these men. They don’t feel right to me, and I don’t want greasy smiles or sloppy touches. I want someone who’ll burn me alive with just a touch, make me feel desired with just a look, and make me forget who I am with every thing in him.

And that’s exactly when I feel it.

It’s not a touch. It’s a presence, someone’s eyes on me. It’s weighty, heavy, intense, and my skin suddenly breaks out in goosebumps when their stare trails over my body slowly, lingering on my chest before my eyes fall on the owner’s.

The figure is tall, dressed in all black, leaning against the bar up here, sleeves rolled up his arms, a mask covering half of his face. And he’s not looking at anyone else. Just me.

The only sound I can hear is that of my pulse roaring in my ears and my heart thumping so wildly, I suspect it’s going to fall out of its ribcage.

I will my eyes to look away, will my body to turn, will my legs to move but none of them obey me because this man just a few distance away from me is still staring, not even blinking, and those eyes are pinning me in place. And, as if I’m being controlled by a magnet, I take a bold step forward. When he doesn’t move, I take another one, expecting him to turn and leave. Again, when he doesn’t and still doesn’t look away, his stillness feeling dangerous and somewhat predatory as if he’s a wolf waiting for his prey to walk into his trap, I continue moving until I’ve covered the distance between us.

And by the time I’m finally standing before him, I think I’m barely breathing.

Those eyes rove over my body again, reigniting those goosebumps and a flush when they stop on my bare legs, and when they return to mine, they’re filled with a dark gleam, one that makes something warm and wet pool between my legs.

Jesus, how has a stranger managed to arouse me with just a look?

As if he can see the arousal in my eyes, the corner of his lips tilt slightly, just a little bit one might miss it. “Are you lost?” His voice is deep, smooth, and velvety with a thick Russian accent, I may have wet my panties even more from the sound.

Oh god.

I tilt my chin up in a bold attempt to show him what? I don’t know. “No.” I say, not recognizing what the f**k my voice sounds like right now. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

This time, the curve of his lips widen into what resembles a half smile and smirk. “And what is it you want?”

I have no idea where the courage comes from, given I’ve never done this, but I lean closer, close enough to smell the smoke mixed with a sharp, misty, expensive cologne radiating off him, with a dark edge that makes my skin prickle. “You.”

That one word is all it takes. His glass clinks against the counter as the stranger sets it down, and his hands find my waist, fingers warm and firm, dragging me flush against his body. Heat spikes between us, and when my skin tingles where he’s holding me, I know I’ve found the burn I was searching for.

“Then let’s not waste time,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear as his hot breath fans my cheek.

I swear, I’ve just clenched my thighs together when he suddenly pulls away and motions for someone behind me. In less than two seconds, a man shows up beside us, his posture similar to that Father’s men.

Is he related to the mafia?

“Take her to the private room.” My soon-to-be hookup orders, voice now cold and intimidating, a shiver courses through my body. Then, his gaze slides to me before he leans in and whispers darkly against my lip. “Be a good girl and wait for me, Zmeyka, hmm? I’ll be there with you in a while.”