Ivan 2 (Her Russian Protector Book 10)

by Roxie Rivera

  Ivan enjoyed the petrified look on Kavanaugh’s face. “Let’s go.”

  A short time later, Ivan and Ruby stood side by side in a soundproofed garage behind an old, rusty single wide. He had bandaged her nose with supplies from Kostya’s first aid kit. He would take her to see a private doctor in the morning, but he had seen enough broken noses to know when they needed surgery and when they didn’t.

  Silently, they admired Kostya’s skill with ropes. Naked, gagged, and hanging by his bound wrists, Kavanaugh looked every bit the pasty weasel he was. The pathetic hatred he had for people who didn’t look like him was on full display in the tattoos emblazoned on his skin. He had finally stopped crying, but he had a river of snot running down his face.

  “So, who’s first?” Kostya asked, handing him a length of pipe.

  Ivan held the pipe in his hands, testing the weight of it against his palm. It was a good size, big enough to inflict damage but not so big that it would cause fatal injuries as long as they stayed away from his head and major organs. He looked down at Ruby and extended the pipe. “Ladies first.”

  She stared at the pipe and bit her lower lip. When she didn’t take it, he gently took her wrist, turned her hand, and wrapped her fingers around it. She clasped it tightly, holding it in her shaky hand, and then looked at Kavanaugh. He could feel the anger vibrating under her skin. No doubt, she was reliving the pain and humiliation he had inflicted upon her.

  Taking a step forward, she said, “Sixty-three.” Her voice wavered as she repeated the number. “Sixty-three.” Her arm flexed. “That’s how many times you pulled me out of my cell and raped me. That’s how many times you used me like I was some disposable fuck doll without feelings.” She raised her arm high and asked, “You think I can swing this pipe sixty-three times before my arm gives out?”

  Kavanaugh screamed into his gag, but his cries for mercy were ignored by Ruby. The first whack of the pipe against his outer thigh had Kavanaugh howling with pain. Ruby let loose a primitive growl of pain and anger and vengeance and hit him again.

  And, as it turned out, she absolutely could swing that arm sixty-three times.

  Chapter Twenty

  By the time Ivan and Ruby finally arrived at Nikolai and Vivian’s house, I had practically worn a stripe into the hardwood floors in the sitting from pacing anxiously back and forth. Boychenko had taken custody of me from Eric and hadn’t let me out of his sight since arriving at the house. He had tried to distract me, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything.

  As soon as I spotted them walking up the sidewalk, I raced out of the house, Boychenko close behind, and rushed out to the meet them. I reached Ruby first and grabbed her in a panicked hug. I checked her over, taking in the broken nose and the swollen hand. She was guarding her right arm, probably from an injury sustained during her kidnapping, and her clothes were different.

  “I’m okay,” Ruby assured me. “Really.” She gestured to her face. “This is worse than it looks.”

  I hugged her again. “I was so afraid.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I squeezed her tightly. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Only because of Ivan,” she said, stepping back to give us some room.

  His tender gaze fell on me, and he placed his big, warm hand along my face. I nuzzled into his touch and let him draw me into his arms. Like Ruby, he smelled of a strange, cheap soap and had on different clothes. I decided it was better not to ask why. Not now, at least.

  “Can we go home?” I asked, desperate to feel safe in my own house, with my husband and my sister close.

  Behind us, Boychenko said, “I’ll drive your car home tomorrow, Erin.”

  I turned to thank him and saw that he had my purse and coat in his hands. “You’re a sweetheart,” I told him, lifting up on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  He glanced away and cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

  Ivan’s hand settled onto the small of my back. He nodded at Boychenko and escorted Ruby and me to his idling SUV. We drove home in silence, none of us ready to talk about what had transpired today. Ivan held my hand, keeping us connected, and glanced over at me every now and then to smile. In the backseat, Ruby seemed oddly serene. Something had happened while they were gone, something that helped her find some peace.

  When we finally made it home, we trudged inside, all three of us completely sapped of energy after our long, trying day. Ruby hugged me one more time and squeezed Ivan’s arm before telling us good night and climbing the stairs to her room. Alone in the kitchen with my husband, I stared at him, trying to decide what to ask him first. I chose to start with the safest possible question. “What did Mueller want in exchange for Ruby? That’s why he took her, isn’t it? To get leverage over you?”

  “He thinks he’s a fucking genius,” Ivan snarled. “He thinks he got one over on us, trading Ruby for the property, but he didn’t even know Teague was dead.”

  “I don’t think Teague went quietly into the night.” I put my hand on Ivan’s chest and relished the hard strength of him under my fingertips. “I think he put something into motion that Mueller won’t be able to stop.”

  “Good.” Ivan dipped his head and sought my mouth. I melted into his embrace and his seeking kiss, gripping his shirt in both hands and refusing to let him go. He must have sensed I was still upset about him leaving the gym like that. He touched his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I ran like a coward.”

  “Oh, Ivan,” I said in a rush and kissed him again. “I’m so, so sorry you found out like that.” Tears stung my eyes, and I tried to blink them away, but imagining his pain at that moment broke me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please don’t cry,” he begged, his voice thick. “Please, Erin,” he said roughly. “I can’t handle it when you cry.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just overwhelmed.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m an asshole. You can cry. You can even hit me if it makes you feel better.” He shuddered and then weakly pleaded, “Please don’t leave me.”

  “What?” I reared back in shock. His face was a mask of pain so deep that it hurt me to see it. “Ivan!” I cupped his face and forced him to look at me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I understand if you—"

  I kissed him, interrupting whatever terrible thing he was about to say. “I’m Not.” I kissed him again. “Going.” Another kiss. “Anywhere.” Another kiss. “Without you.”

  “But you want a baby—"

  “Yes, I do, and we’ll have one someday,” I promised him. “Maybe not the old-fashioned way. Maybe not a baby that grows in my belly. But we will be parents. We’ll have a family. Together.” I stroked his face and prayed he would understand how deeply I loved him. “Ivan, you are more important to me than anything in this world. You. Just as you are.”

  “I love you so much, Erin,” he said in a rush of emotion. “I never thought I could feel like this. I never thought I could be this happy.” He crashed his mouth to mine, his hands tangling in my hair as he lost control to passion. “All I ever wanted was to make you happy. To give you everything in life that you want.”

  “And you have,” I assured him. “You have, Ivan.” I turned my face and kissed his palm. “You are all I need to be happy. Just you.”

  We shared a deep and loving kiss. It was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life. Just the two of us, in our kitchen, making a promise to love each other no matter what. It was a tender moment that filled me with so much hope for our future. It wasn’t going to be easy. There were probably going to be more tears and sadness, but I wasn’t afraid of tears or sadness.

  As long as we were together, we could face anything.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nine Weeks Later

  “Scoot over,” Ivan urged as he shuffled from our master bathroom back to the bed. He was bent slightly at the waist and grimaced with discomfort when he finally made it to the bed and had to cli
mb onto it.

  “I told you this bed was too tall.”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.”

  “Do you need help getting comfortable? I can move some pillows for you.”

  “No! You stay right there. Flat with your legs up, remember?”

  Now I was the one rolling my eyes. “Dr. T said to do this for fifteen minutes after the procedure! Not for an entire day!”

  “I don’t want to risk it,” Ivan replied and then gestured to the front of his shorts. “I’m out of order for at least a month. If this doesn’t work, you’ll have to wait until I’m back in fighting shape.”

  That morning, I had held Ivan’s hand before he was wheeled into surgery. His specialist had diagnosed a serious varicocele and strongly suspected surgery would improve the health and number of his sperm. Ivan had agreed immediately to the procedure, and we were both hoping it would have a positive effect.

  After he was discharged from his outpatient procedure, he sat beside me and held my hand as we had our first IUI. He had been giving samples at the clinic for the last ten days to get enough of his swimmers for an insemination procedure. It was a complicated process of collecting, washing, and choosing the strongest sperm to inject directly into my uterus. I had taken a course of injectable drugs to prepare my body for the baby bomb. They had made me a hormonal mess, but it was worth it for a better chance to conceive.

  “Okay,” Ruby announced as she entered the room with a basket. “I’ve got one ice pack, three scoops of strawberry ice cream, a phone charger, a Gatorade, and a Cherry Coke. Did I forget anything?”

  “Nope!” I happily took the bowl of ice cream and the Coke. Ivan took the other things and got himself situated, lifting up the sheet and gingerly placing the ice pack on his family jewels. “Thank you.”

  Ruby made a face. “Yeah, I’m going to bleach my brain now. If you two need anything else not related to his swollen speed bag, message me.”

  Ivan made a throaty sound of irritation. “I hope she remembers this the next time she needs help.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s doing everything she can to never remember the sight of you putting an ice bag on your—"

  “Yeah,” he cut me off with a frown. “I get it.”

  Deciding it wasn’t nice to tease him, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

  He harrumphed and let out a noisy sigh. “I love you, too, even if you are enjoying my predicament a little too much.”

  “I mean, listen, if this works,” I gestured to my belly, “I’m going to be in a world of hurt in nine months when your giant-headed baby is born.”

  He seemed to consider that. “Okay. That’s fair, I guess.”

  “I think so.” I rubbed his arm. “I know this whole experience has been difficult. Going to therapy at the clinic, letting that doctor fondle you with his cold, wrinkly hands, and choosing to go through with this surgery today. I know it wasn’t easy, and I know you’re in pain.”

  “It’s worth it,” he assured me. “I’d do it all over again.”

  “Well, let’s hope you don’t need to go through this again.” I turned my gaze back to the television where the nightly news was beginning. The last few weeks had been wall-to-wall coverage of corruption, the rise of white nationalism in the city, and the sex trafficking ring operating inside the jail. Five guards had been arrested and indicted for the murder of Maria del Carmen Riojas. Kavanaugh, who had been dumped at in front of an emergency room with multiple broken bones and two severely fractured hands, was in jail awaiting trial for his attacks on my sister and a dozen other former prisoners who had come forward.

  “He did a good thing, you know?” Ivan gestured to the television. “Teague,” he clarified, as if I didn’t know. I raised an eyebrow at that, wondering how many pain pills he had taken. Before I could ask, he said, “Do you think he knew? That sending you that box of files and hard drives would lead to this?”

  The morning after Ruby’s ordeal and Teague’s suicide, the three of us had been having breakfast when the doorbell rang. I had expected to find the police or Detective Santos to ask questions, but it was just a box addressed to me from Teague. He had mailed it the morning he before killed himself. There was only a short two-word note from him inside.

  I’m sorry.

  His apology made more sense once I realized that he had been the distributor for the films made inside the jail. He had been the one who took requests and handled all of the money from the operation, money that went back to the hate group Mueller controlled. There weren’t any direct links to Mueller, of course. He was too smart for that and used shell companies and pass-throughs, but there were enough dots to connect to make it very clear that he was involved.

  It hadn’t taken Ruby or me long to decide what to do with all of the information inside. We contacted Lena, who gave us the names of journalists and social justice influencers she trusted to handle the story correctly. Ruby had insisted on making copies to send out to the journalists and influencers. We put the originals and our own set of documents in two different safes, just in case.

  It hadn’t taken long for the first story to break. Once it hit the papers and the internet, all hell broke loose. There were protests, mass resignations, and public shaming unlike anything I had ever seen. Mueller had lost his right to develop that area along the proposed I-45 expansion. Yuri and a group of local Houston developers and contractors he had handpicked put together a lightning fast bid that won the right to the project. Our land was tied up in the deal because of Ivan’s trade with Mueller, but working with Yuri was a much more acceptable and highly profitable situation.

  “I think Teague hoped it would,” I answered finally. “I think he trusted me to do the right thing.”

  “Like you always do,” Ivan said, lifting my hand to kiss the back of it. His gaze drifted back to the television. “Can we watch something else?”

  “Like?”

  “Something not so serious,” he said, wincing as he shifted. A thought seemed to strike him because he smiled. “Beauty and the Beast! Let’s watch that.”

  “What? Why?”

  He yawned and wiggled his toes, further confirming my suspicion that he was high as a kite on pain meds. “Ruby says I eat eggs like one of the guys in the movie.”

  I busted out laughing. “Oh, my God! You do! You’re Gaston!”

  “Well, let’s see,” he gestured to the television.

  “Okay.” I found the film in our Disney+ app and hit play. As it started, I snuggled closer to Ivan and ate my ice cream. When I was done, I put my head on his chest. He began to comb his fingers through my hair in the most gentle way. There was something so wonderful about these happy, quiet moments of marriage.

  Not that those quiet moments ever lasted long in this house.

  “Blyad,” he exclaimed as Le Fou and Gaston sang about wrestling and biting and danced through the tavern. “I fucking am Gaston.”

  Overcome with the giggles, I buried my face against his thick, muscled arm. He might have the boisterous manners and the oversized diet of Gaston, but his big, loving heart was all Beast.

  And it was all mine.

  The End.

  Also by Roxie Rivera

  Her Russian Protector

  Ivan

  Dimitri

  Yuri

  Nikolai

  Sergei

  Sergei 2

  Nikolai 2

  Kostya

  Alexei

  Fighting Connollys

  In Kelly’s Corner

  In Jack’s Arms

  In Finn’s Heart

  Debt Collection

  Collateral

  Collateral 2

  About the Author

  A New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, I like to write super sexy romances and scorching hot erotica. I live in Texas on five acres with my husband, two daughters and our wild and ever-expanding menagerie of pets.

  You can find me online at www.roxieri
vera.com.