Clubs: The Suit’s Book 2
Clubs: Chapter 33

Holding the envelope in my hands, I stare at it. I’m almost scared to open it. I wanted to save it in case I needed to hear his voice again. To see the marks on the paper where his hands once were. To hold a part of him close to me.

Apparently, not opening this was one of my biggest mistakes.

I rest my elbows on my knees and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck,” I mutter to myself.

Ripping the paper open, I unfold the letter.

Misha,

I know how stubborn you can be, and I hope that you take this note from Mia. It’s the least you can do for your old man.

As I’m sure you’re aware, you need to take back control of the city. Start with 324 Parkway. The men who own it are looking for investors, and they’d be idiots not to invest in you. They are family men. Use that to your advantage.

You have everything you need in order to take over, I just wish you wouldn’t let your hate overwhelm you. Kirill will be missed, and I’m sure you’ll miss me as well. But do not let it defeat you. If you’re weak, others will attack you.

Rebuild the Stepanov name. Mia will need help around the new house. The deed has already been registered in your name. A woman named Sloane Koziov will be able to help Mia. Reach out to Ludis to get her information.

If you use her to get back at Giovanni, I will come back from this grave and kill you myself. Not everything needs to result in a bloodbath.

I stop reading to clear my eyes of the liquid that fills them. Am I fucking crying right now? Taking in a deep breath, I pick up where I left off.

See your sister often and stop making Dimitri feel bad about loving her. Anya has a great man who watches over her now, and you should be thankful. Go to the ballet recitals for me and blow Alyna kisses like I normally do. Anya and Alyna are your strength. Don’t push them away. They’re going through losses too.

Give me fresh flowers and don’t let my tombstone rot.

Don’t forget about me, son.

Pavel Stepanov

I throw the paper on the coffee table and stare at it. If I had read that sooner, so much would be different. But I don’t think I would have connected with Sloane the way I have. She wouldn’t have been able to push me the way she has if she worked for me.

Speaking of Sloane, she steps down the stairs with her long hair hanging freely around her face. She’s wearing one of my white button-down shirts like a dress. She twirls in a circle and steps outside, leaving the patio door wide-open.

She’s trying to kill me.

Standing from my seat, I walk out the door and follow her. Stepping down the cobbled stone stairs, I see her standing by the pool. It’s nearly midnight—what the hell is she doing?

I approach her with a gentle smile. Seeing her happy makes me want to smile like a little kid. It makes me want to show her how I feel—no matter how foreign it might feel.

Her arms cross and her head falls back as she looks at me.

“Shto ti delayesh malenkaya zvyozdochka?” I ask her. What are you doing, little star?

“Pochemu vi menya tak nazivayete?” Why do you call me that?

“Malenkaya zvyozdochka?” Little star?

“Da.” Yes.

I smile. I love when she speaks Russian. It feels like home.

Grabbing onto her arms, I turn her to face the sea. There’s an open view of the ocean since the house is built on a small hill.

“Sloane, what do you see?” I ask.

She leans her weight onto my chest and takes in a deep breath. She overthinks the question for a moment before she answers. “I see the ocean.”

“What does the ocean make you feel?” I ask.

Another pause. “At ease. But terrified at times,” she admits.

My chin rests on the top of her head, and I wrap my arms around the tops of her shoulders, holding her neck gently in my arms. “I see the stars,” I whisper so gently goose bumps take over her skin. “But the ocean holds the reflection of the sky. Like you and me, Moya Zvezda.”

She lifts off me and turns slowly. Lifting her chin with the tip of my finger, I direct her attention to the sky.

“Now, what stands out in the sky?”

She looks up to see thousands, if not millions, of stars, but only one stands out.

“The North Star,” she answers.

“Do you understand now?” I ask, but I don’t give her the chance to respond. “You are all that I see.”

“Mikhail . . .” she starts.

“If something were to happen to you, you’d be leaving me, and the sky would become dull.”

I’m sure my words feel like a shock to her. She stands on her toes and wraps her arms around my neck, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. It’s unlike the kisses we’ve shared before: angry, passionate, full of lust. This one is full of admiration and trust.

She feels safe enough with me to trust me in her most vulnerable state of mind.

“When you think of me, what do you see?” I ask.

“I see you—all of you,” she responds.

Relief floods my eyes. “Can you see yourself here with me?”

“What are you asking?”

“I can’t express my feelings well . . . but I admire you, Sloane. I can have a meeting arranged with your father.”

“Are you talking about—?”

Marriage.

“I am. Think about it, Slo.” I lift my hand to her cheek. Her face fits perfectly in my hands. Her lips were created to touch mine. I press my thumb on her bottom lip and pull it down. She doesn’t try to move from my touch. She wants this as much as I do. Could she see herself with me?

“Tell me what you want.”

She reaches up, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. Her eyes fall to my lips then back up to my eyes. “I want someone who prioritizes me.” She turns around slowly. “I want someone who is kind,” she says while turning toward me again. “I want someone who doesn’t kill people like it’s their hobby. And most importantly, I want a man with a normal job. I can’t have a future with someone like you. God, if we had kids, you’d teach them to murder!” She laughs hysterically, and I bite back a smile. “That’s not what I want. I want a nice man who’ll think of me the moment he wakes up and the moment he goes to bed.”

I grab her face and run my thumb down her cheek. “You crave adventure and darkness—admit it.” My jaw clenches. “You’d get bored with a nice boy. You and I both know that.”

I shake my head, suddenly not able to speak any more of my thoughts into existence. Though, none of them are appropriate.

She stomps her feet, and I swear it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. When Sloane steps back from me, I step forward, grabbing her hands.

“I am truthful. I will learn to be kind even though it serves no purpose to anyone who isn’t you. I kill people, yes. That’s something I can’t change. If we have kids, I’ll teach them how to defend themselves—why the fuck wouldn’t I? Why the hell would you want someone to think of you only twice a day when you have me who thinks about you every second, Sloane? Fuck, you say you want all these things, but I’m right here.”

“No, stop it. Stop telling me all these things!” she shouts.

I don’t.

“What you do to a room is beyond my understanding. The moment I was able to bring a smile to your face, it filled me with a feeling I’ve pushed away for years. Making you smile is my high. Every single word you say brings me happiness, and I fucking take that feeling. I take and take because I am greedy and fucking selfish for your love. I want to give it back to you because you deserve the fucking world.”

“Misha,” she says my name.

“Stop denying what you crave, Kroshka,” I whisper in a tone of voice I’ve never used before.

She doesn’t have to say a single word to me. A single glance says things her voice couldn’t.

Her eyes fall down the length of my torso, and her breathing slowly quickens when she leans in closer to me, placing her delicate hand against my chest.

“Fuck, Sloane,” I mutter. “You can’t look at me like that.”

She smiles . . . almost manipulatively. “Why?” she asks smoothly. “Are you weak?”

I nod, fully ready to admit my defeat. “You’ve ruined me.”

She bites down on her bottom lip and bats her full lashes at me. “Finally,” she mocks.

My hand wraps gently around her throat, and I pull her over to the rattan daybed. Her smooth legs wrap around my waist as both my arms fall to either side of her body, holding my weight up.

My knuckles brush against her stomach, and I trail my tongue over her collar bone. Goose bumps take over her skin when she feels me making my way down her chest. Her nails dig into my neck, begging for me to continue.

Her breathing picks up when I suck the skin that surrounds her breast. I gather the bottom of her shirt and pull it up past her waist, noticing she’s not wearing anything underneath it. My eyes lift to hers when the tips of my fingers brush her clit.

“You’re ready for me, and I’ve hardly touched you,” I whisper in her ear.

A whimper escapes her, and the second I hear it, I know I’ve got her worked up. She can’t deny that our anger fuels our sex.

My teeth sink into her skin and I soothe out the marks with the pressure of my thumb. Her legs part further for me. When she looks at me with those eyes of hers, I forget that she wounds me.

How is it that the person capable of shattering your heart is the only one who can mend it back together?

She’s my vice, and I’ll go down longing for her.

My hand covers the majority of her stomach while the tips of my fingers trail down the center. She moves relentlessly, impatient for me.

I rub her clit and watch her face crumple with need that takes over her reasoning. My fingers move slowly as I watch her unfold beneath me. She tries to lean up to take over, but I hold her down.

“Some things are mean to be savored, Kroshka,” I tell her in a low whisper.

Her bottom lip parts from her top when I push a finger inside of her. Her back arches to my touch, and I place a trail of kisses all the way up to her neck until I replace her lips.

She wraps her arms around me, pulling me close as she places her lips against mine. Her kisses start off soft but begin to feel demanding. My bottom lip gets caught in between her teeth, and she bites down.

I push her legs to the side and feel her coming around my fingers. It takes an undeniable amount of control not to come with her.

“I want two more from you,” I tell her.

She escapes my hold on her and pushes me down onto the cushions. Her hair falls over her shoulder, covering her breasts slightly.

“Someone likes control,” I tell her.

Her body grinds on mine when she leans down, grabbing onto my hands and pinning them above my head.

“I like seeing you look up at me,” she says while she bites on my neck. I planned on edging her, but the second she begins to unbutton my pants, I forget why I even planned on taking my time.

Before she continues, I wrap my arm around her, flipping her onto her back. I toy with her until her breaking point, continuing to place kisses everywhere on her body.

“Please,” she begs with a heavy breath.

I pull down her lip with my thumb. “You need to breathe first, Kroshka.”

Her legs wrap around my hips, and she pulls me close to her. She undoes my pants eagerly. I place my hand over her chest.

“Fuck me, Mikhail,” she demands.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and align myself with her entrance. She whimpers and spreads her legs for me.

Her nails replace their place on my back, and I lean down to her. “I want to hear those sounds you make for me, Sloane.”

I don’t resist when I push myself in and out of her. She covers her mouth, and I pull it away, guiding her hand to my back.

“Keep your hands on me,” I demand.

Pushing myself further into her, I give her every inch. She cries out, but it’s not from pain—these are cries of pleasure. Cries that beg for more attention.

I glide in and out of her effortlessly, and I reach down, putting pressure over her clit with my thumb. I can feel her clenching on me, and I about fucking lose it. I pull out of her to give myself strength to continue.

“Mikhail,” she calls.

“One more,” I whisper as I dive back into her with a thrust. She cries with pleasure while I fuck her as if I’m never going to see her again.

I put pressure on her pelvis with one hand while the other grabs onto her ass, guiding her body to mine. With marks on her skin, her body begins to work mine. I lift her up and place her on top of me. Her arms hang over my neck and her forehead presses against mine. Her fingers thread through my hair, and she pulls my head back.

“Ti moya,” she says as she rides me. You are mine.

“Ya ves vash,” I whimper when I feel her throbbing. I’m all yours.

I’m dying to spill inside of her, and I do. Fuck control—I don’t have any.

I hold onto her with my hands on her back. She places a kiss on my forehead, and I lean into her touch.

All this time I’ve had her by my side. Having Sloane is fucking terrifying, and I love it.

As I step out of the shower, I hear pounding on my front door. Sloane watches me from the bed as I quickly throw on a pair of sweatpants and rush to see who it is.

Max’s voice comes through the door. I lied to him and said I needed to get up early because I wanted time with Sloane, but I don’t think he understood correctly.

“All right, I know you said you didn’t want to talk and that you have to go to sleep early, but guess what, Mikhail? I simply don’t give a fuck. You are my best friend. You don’t get to decide when we can and can’t hang out. I do. I’m bored. I want a shot. I couldn’t give two shits about the bodies you have to bury tomorrow. Let. Me. In.”

I laugh despite how frustrated I am with Sloane and Giovanni. Opening the door, I replace Max looking at me, both arms holding his weight against the doorframe.

“Mikhail?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“You actually answered.”

“Are you going to cry about it?”

“No.”

“Okay, then get in.”

He stumbles over his feet and replaces his way to the couch. “I can’t be by myself,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips.

“Put the beer down, Max.”

He rolls his eyes and puts it on the table, and I shuffle the cards. He takes the cards from me and deals them. While he looks at the seven cards he has, I just look at him.

“Are we seriously going to play Go Fish right now?”

“What’s wrong with Go Fish? You scared to lose or something?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Go Fish. You start.”

We take our turns asking each other for cards. Max puts all his might into the game, and it makes me want to laugh my ass off.

“I miss her,” he tells me.

“I know, but you can’t do anything about it.”

Max likes that I never ask him questions or force him to do anything. Giovanni thinks he spends his time running a club his father gave him, but instead he’s been trying to figure out what the Clarkes are up to. I don’t understand his obsession with them. He isn’t the kind of person to pick a side but his own.

“I saw her,” he says. “I told her she was fucking dead to me.”

My gaze lifts to his, and I see a familiar pain. His eyes try to hold back the tears, but they flow down his face effortlessly.

“Some days are just . . . heavy, Max. Eventually, you’ll make peace with who she is in your head.”

We play for a little while longer until his eyes begin to flutter and his drink falls from his hands. I shake my head even though he can’t see me. Grabbing a blanket off the arm of the couch, I throw it over him.

“Sleep tight, man.”