by Sassie Lewis
Flicking his eyes back to the older Russian, Blake opened his mouth to greet him, but the princess stepped back in front of him, once again putting herself in the line of fire, and spoke before he could.
“Max, don’t shoot him, please.” Blake didn’t have time to wonder about the tone in her voice, one that made her sound on the verge of tears, because in one quick move, she had her arms wrapped around him, and her lips pressed against his.
Her mouth opened on a sigh and Blake’s tongue delved inside before his brain could tell him to stop. But the moment the taste of her hit him, every one of his brain cells vacated his big head and moved south, and he forgot why he shouldn’t be touching her. Tangling a hand in her hair, he held her still as he explored every recess of her mouth. The other he used to host her up.
Shapely legs wrapped around his waist, the heat of her core could be felt through his leather vest. A flash of memory assailed him, one of him burying his fingers into her tight, warm center. The sharp bite of pain at his shoulder, and the clearing of a throat were the only two things stopping him from slamming her against the wall and ripping the ridiculously short dress from her body.
What the fuck was he doing?
“What are you doing here?” the old Russian spoke in his native tongue. Becca squirmed in his arms, an effort to be put down no less. All the move did was make Blake’s aching cock twitch, an action she obviously felt because she froze.
The two idiots still had their guns trained on him, not that it bothered Blake. However, the fact that the princess was also in the line of fire pissed him off. But what annoyed the fuck out of him was those same two idiots weren’t looking where they aimed, their eyes were glued to the bare ass Blake held in his hands. It was the last that made what should have been a request sound like a growled demand. “Call your dogs off!”
Sharp nails dug into the side of his neck, drawing his attention to the once again wiggling woman in his arms. “Put me down, Blake.” He did, not because she asked, but because it would stop the others from staring at what was his.
No, not yours. Thinking like that will get you killed. His inner voice was right, but with the heat from Becca’s body still clinging to his, he wanted to tell that voice to fuck off. And the little shimmy she did to get her dress back into place enforced the sentiment.
“You have yet to tell me why you are here, Bold?” Boris Alexandrov asked as he moved closer, gripped Blake’s face between open palms, and placed a kiss upon each of his cheeks. “But it is good to see you, my vnuk.”
Becca’s screeched, “Grandson?” had ever man in the room wincing. “What do you mean Grandson?” The way she stamped her foot and glared at his grandfather made her boobs bounce in a very appealing way, and reminded him of the old bratty princess.
“Bold never told you he was my grandson?”
“Bold? But his name is Blake!”
“Ah, Da, Bold is the name he was given at birth. I should know, I am the one who named him.”
The pint size princess batted her eyelashes up at Blake. “Bold is not a Russian name. However, it means steel.” She ran those jade pools down then back up his body. “I think you were aptly named.”
“We have better things to discuss than a name I haven’t used in longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And I won the bet, Bold.” Blake gritted his teeth at her calling him that. “I told you we’ll talk in the morning.” Then she did something he didn’t expect, she switched from speaking English to Russian, what more, her pronunciation was flawless. “I’m assuming you speak Russian?” At his nod she did it again, in mid-sentence she switch languages. “How about French?”
“Da, I understand French but cannot speak it,” he answered in Russian, his native language flowed effortlessly even with it being ten years since he’d spoken it. Whatever she said next, Blake had no idea. It sounded Asian, but he couldn’t be sure. When it was clear to all that Blake was lost, Becca nodded before directing that foreign language at his grandfather.
Boris either didn’t speak the same language, or he answered in English for Blake’s sake. “I do not think that is wise, Rebecca. He is obviously here for an important, and what must be urgent, reason. He knows better than to dress like that when he enters my casino.”
What she said next clearly angered the old man. “Do not overstep your place, Rebecca. I think of you not only as a valued employee, but as a granddaughter, but not even family will I allow disrespect from.” The tone in Boris’s voice had Blake pulling Becca closer. She might not know the full extent of his grandfather’s disciplinary measures, but Blake was well aware of them.
He needn’t have worried, Becca surprised him again by giving Boris a deep bow. “Forgive me, Boris,” she spoke in English. “Tell him if that’s your desire, but if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long, tiring day.” She was in the still-open lift with the doors closing before he could stop her.
“Do not worry, she will not go far. She is staying in your old rooms. Come, we will discuss what has you disrespecting my establishment with that.” Boris’s wave indicated the “that” was the clothes Blake wore. As he’d told Becca downstairs, he was the exception to the rule, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have to follow the rules. “I believe Borya has a change of clothes here. You will use them for now.”
“You haven’t changed a bit, old man. Still like giving out orders,” Blake responded, following Boris through the penthouse. Not much had changed in the ten years since he’d been here. His last visit had been for his babushka’s funeral. A pain hit his chest at the thought of the only woman he’d ever loved. She was more than a grandmother, to Blake, she had been the mother he’d never had.
“Neither have you—still as disrespectful as ever. You are lucky your babushka loved you so. Now change.” Blake took the charcoal gray suit handed to him, and headed into the bathroom. If he was going to put fresh clothes on, he was going to be clean first.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve been awake for over thirty hours, eight of those spent on the back of a bike. I need a shower, and food.”
Now that he thought about it, he was starving. Unconcerned about his witness, Blake stripped and stepped under the scolding hot water. The lethargy that had weighed him down lifted, and tense muscles began to relax.
“I will have Nina bring us a late supper. Now, tell me what has been happening.”
As Blake showered, dressed, and ate, he filled Boris in. Normally club business stayed exactly that – club business, but Blake had convinced Quin to allow him to share what had happened over the past year. Without the information, Boris wouldn’t help them protect the princess.
“She is very independent and she does not fear easily. She will not allow us to lock her up, even for her own good.” Boris wasn’t saying anything Blake didn’t already know. “The way she was raised is both a blessing and a curse, she is too . . . willful, doesn’t have enough discipline or respect.” Boris flapped his arms in an exasperated move.
Blake wouldn’t get into this argument; they’d had it before. Boris thought motorcycle clubs were nothing more than a bunch of frat boys who got drunk, did drugs, and had no discipline or respect for their leaders. He couldn’t be more wrong. For one, Hell’s Exiles was a clean club, they might move the shit, but if you were caught doing drugs, you were out. And Quin didn’t tolerate shit from anyone, especially not from his boys.
As for Becca, Blake couldn’t wait to get the princess to fall in line.
Chapter Four
What the hell was with that kiss?
Better yet, why the fuck had she kissed him in the first place? Okay, so she’d thought by pretending that Blake—no, Bold—was her boyfriend it would save him from a mafia style execution. Well, wasn’t she an idiot? She needn’t have worried.
More questions raced through her mind, building her confusion and adding to the already simmering pool of anger. She just wanted to make a new life for herself, but, no, her father would ta
ke even that away from her. Soon as the elevator opened, Becca stormed out only to slam face-first into Danil. His hands landed on her hips, stopping her from falling to the floor. Slapping at them, she stepped back, and frowned up at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I saw you on the monitors, you looked upset, and I wanted to check on you. Look, I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. You’re right. I’ve been jealous that Boris gave you the position I wanted. Give me a chance to make it up to you.”
Was the guy on crack? She’d had her knife pressed against his skin a couple of hours ago, and he was checking on her? There was too much already going on in her brain to even begin to process what Danil was up to. “We are not friends, Danil. I think it’s safe to say we don’t even like each other, so piss off.” Not waiting for a response, she moved around him and opened the door to her rooms.
She needed space. Needed time to calm the fuck down. And needed a damn plan, because there was no fucking way she was going back to Boulder. And she just knew that’s what Blake wanted to talk to her about.
For six months, she’d been able to pretend her life was different. Pretend she wasn’t the princess of Hell’s Exiles. And pretend that day never happened. Her dreams, the only reminder that her mother had been ripped from her life, and in the morning, she could dismiss those memories as nothing more than a nightmare.
Her heart raced.
Anger burned.
And anguish dragged her under its vicious waves.
The spacious room felt too small, too bright, and her dress too tight—restricting her lungs. Gasping for breath, Becca raced through to the bedroom, ripping the scarlet material from her body as she went. The world turned fuzzy, and she knew she was on the brink of a full-blown panic attack.
No one had seen her like this, not even her best friend Nessa had been a witness to one of these episodes. She’d always hid this weak side of herself. She’d thought she had the damn things under control, then her mother had been killed right in front of her, and the bastards had come back with vengeance. When she arrived in Reno, she’d worked hard, made herself stronger both physically and mentally, until right now she thought she had the damn things back under control.
Warm, humid air caressed her naked skin, helping to ease the rapid pounding of her heart. Gripping the railing, Becca closed her eyes against the tears rolling down her cheeks and counted the quickened beats of her heart. Minutes or hours could have passed, she didn’t know.
Fuck, she hated when she lost control like this. Hell, she didn’t even remember how she got to the balcony, only that she had needed space and air—air that hadn’t been filtered through an air conditioner—to breathe. Even in the wee hours of morning, a slow stream of traffic moved through Reno, and the sound drifted up to her ears. But it wasn’t loud enough to drown out her thoughts.
Why the fuck couldn’t her father leave her alone?
Who the fuck was following her?
Why, of all people, did it have to be Blake who came for her?
The heat in her body spiked again, her heart beat more than it should, and she knew she’d faint if she didn’t get it, and her erratic breathing under control. She needed the thoughts racing through her mind to stop. The normal tricks weren’t helping: naked, fresh air, counting.
Nothing.
Someone growled at her; words her panicked mind couldn’t understand. Fear shot through her, her legs went weak, fuzziness crept in behind her closed eyelids, and then she fell.
Blake couldn’t believe the sight before him, Becca stood naked on the balcony, her ebony hair falling straight around her curvy frame. The neon lights of the strip reflecting off her golden skin. His cock thickened behind his pants while rage churned through his mind and snapped him out of the fantasy it was building. “What the fuck are you doing, Rebecca?” Lust made his voice crack. She didn’t respond.
Moving closer, he could see she had her eyes closed, tears stained her flushed cheeks, her body quivered and a sheen of sweat coated her skin. Apart from the tears, she looked like a well-fucked woman. Jealousy consumed him at the thought of any man touching her.
Christ, he had to get away from there; this was exactly why he’d wanted to send someone else to come find her. He couldn’t be in the same room with Becca without wanting to spank her ass red, before fucking her raw. Of their own volition his eyes wandered to her large rounded breast and a shot of pre-cum sprouted from the tip of his cock.
Dammit, he had to get away from her, if he stood there any longer, he would have his cock out and buried within her warmth—damn the consequences.
Willing his feet to move, he’d only managed to put a foot space between them when her body went slack and she started to fall. Shit, if he’d been thinking with his big head and not his little one, he would have noticed that something hadn’t been right with the princess. Catching her before she hit the ground, Blake pulled Becca’s naked form close to his chest, his need forgotten as worry overtook all else.
Making his way back into her room, he laid her on the bed, reluctant to let her go. Her skin was clammy and her breathing shallow. “Fucking hell.” He’d been thinking about screwing her brains out while she was in the midst of a panic attack. Leaving her resting on the bed, Blake ran a bath. He’d seen Becca have an attack before, although he was pretty sure she didn’t know that fact. She did her best to hide them, but from the moment he’d been put on babysitting duty, she had become an obsession. Fuck, he even knew when she was due her period.
With the bath full and the scent of the vanilla bubble bath steeping the space, Blake retrieved the princess, and placed her in the tempered water. She roused the moment the liquid touched her heated flesh. Her green orbs flickered open to stare up at him and she breathed out a sigh.
“You okay?” Blake brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Yeah. Must have overheated . . . or something,” Becca answered, then turned her gaze from his.
Cupping her face, he turned it back toward him. “Don’t lie to me, princess. I know you had a panic attack—”
“I did fucking not.” She tried to free herself, only managing to splash water over the lip of the tub.
“I said, don’t lie. You suck at it. Besides, I’ve seen you have them before.”
Shock colored her features. Yep, she didn’t have a clue how closely he watched her. “Now, tell me how long these have been going on?” he asked while massaging the back of her skull, when she relaxed, he loosened his hold on her chin but kept working the tips of his fingers into the tight knot he could feel at the base of her hairline.
“How about you tell me about your mafia family, Bold, and why it is no one knows you’re related to them?”
“Answer my question first, then maybe I’ll answer some of yours.”
Closing her eyes, she pressed her head into his massaging fingers. “Fine! They started when I was about fourteen. I don’t know what set them off, I just know they pissed me off. I’ve found ways to deal with them, mostly. I haven’t had one in six months. Now answer my question.”
He wanted to point out that clearly she wasn’t dealing with them, but she still had a fragility about her that made him want to curl his arms around her, and soothe her. “I don’t make my family connection public. And being part of the brotherhood wasn’t for me. I didn’t fit in here.”
“What, not legal enough for you? Blake, you’re a damn enforcer, a killer, I’m sure you would have fitted in just fine.” Her offhanded tone surprised him. She said killer the same way one would say mechanic.
At thirty-eight he’d fucked his fair share of women, but had only been in a semi-serious relationship once. Nicollet hadn’t been able to handle what he did for his club. Oh, she’d loved the money he made, and that she was with a biker, but the fact he was an enforcer, and that he liked what he did, had been too much for her. But the young woman in front of him didn’t seem all that bothered by the blood Blake had spilt. “I mean the politics. And could you imagine
me wearing a suit every day? These fucking collars choke me.”
She opened her eyes and appraised him. Those green orbs ran a path down his body, causing his still hard cock to twitch. With that look she undid him; he wanted to strip down and join her in the bath. Standing up, he stepped away from temptation.
“Blake?” her voice sounded hesitant.
“Yeah?” he answered with his back to her.
“Why did you kiss me?”
Closing his eyes, in a bid to block the memory of her lips under his from consuming him, did nothing. Her scent permeated the room.
“You’re the one who kissed me. Shouldn’t I be asking that question?”
“You kissed me back,” her voice was a mere whisper.
What could he say to that? I kissed you back because I’ve been dreaming about doing that and more for months. In the end, he said, “There will be guards staying in the suite so don’t walk around naked.”
He’d made it to the bathroom door when her voice stopped him again. “If you tell anyone about the panic attacks, I’ll castrate you.” Blake snorted at the threat while adding another spanking to her new, but quickly, growing tally; he’d honor the bet, but it didn’t mean she’d get away from him without accepting her punishment.
Chapter Five
“We have a problem, Sir,” the caller said.
“Tell me?”
“That big bastard from Hell’s Exiles showed up a few hours ago.”
He knew who his informant was talking about, but . . . “What’s his name again?”