Power Play: A Romance Collection

by Lauren Landish

I can see his retaliation coming, but I’m too far to stop it though I’m already sprinting to cover the distance between us. He hits her and she flies to the floor. She’s going to be okay. It’s a hard hit, but she’s going to be okay.

  But he’s not.

  It’s a fast fight, more akin to an NFL sack than an actual fight. He’s not used to battling anyone who could actually hold their own against him.

  Fucking bully.

  My shoulder crashes into his ribs as I lift, taking two steps before twisting and dumping him over my shoulder, where he goes face first into the tile, shattering his nose. Blood gushes freely, coating his lips as he tries to yell.

  “Wha—fuck!”

  He tries to kick upward, and I grab his foot easily, taking perverse pleasure in twisting it hard to the outside, cracking bones and tearing ligaments. He howls, and I stomp on his fingers in response, adding some more injury to the hospital bill. He won’t be hitting anyone again, not with that fucked up hand.

  He cries in agony, and I know I need to get out of here before anyone comes down the hallway. In a final fuck you to him, I kick him in the nuts, driving the wind out of him while sending enough pain through his body that it’s lights out.

  I don’t have any pity and immediately ignore his limp body to turn to Carly, who’s on her knees, trying to regain her senses. Hearing my approach, she looks up, anger in her eyes, but I call out to her. “Carly?”

  She shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. “Kyle? What the . . .”

  She looks at Robert on the floor, and I expect her to freak out like she did last time she saw me looming over an unconscious body.

  But she kicks out fast and sharp, laying a heel into his side. Even in unconsciousness, he grunts.

  That’s my girl.

  Shit.

  ‘My girl?’

  I can’t do this now.

  I slip my arms around her waist, hauling her up to her feet. But as soon as she gets her legs beneath her, she looks up at me and I break like a fucking twig. I press my lips to hers, tasting her gasp of surprise. But then she kisses me back, and it’s like tossing gasoline on a raging inferno.

  Now, I’m the one pressing her against the wall. But she’s not fighting to get away. She’s fighting for more, damn near climbing me like a tree. Her nails score along my shoulders to gain purchase so she can get even closer to me, so I pick her up, pinning her between my hard body and the wall. It’s wild, unrestrained, and crazy, just like her. It’s rough, intense, and dominating, just like me.

  “Fuck, Carly,” I groan.

  She bites my lip. “Say it again.”

  “Carly.” And my brain turns back on. “Shit.”

  I let her feet touch the floor, the feeling of her body to mine painfully good as the knot in my stomach tightens. “We need to go,” I say, looking down at the body on the floor so I don’t have to look at her.

  I damn near could’ve fucked her right here in the hallway, over her ex, whom I just ripped off her and knocked out cold. I’m such a fucked-up monster.

  But she takes my hand. Before she moves, she leans over and spits on Robert again.

  “Okay, let’s not leave any more DNA evidence. Can you walk?”

  She nods, but I hold on to her anyway, helping her down the hallway.

  We make it out of the hotel and into the dark night. It feels safer than the bright lights inside, though I know we need to get the fuck out of here. She said her ex was some big-wig money, entitled son of a bitch. Men like that don’t get beat down and take it.

  He’s gonna wake up pissed, looking for Carly and revenge once he’s in the hospital. And we need to be long gone before then.

  I shove her into a cab and rattle off the address where I’m staying.

  “What are you even doing here?” she asks.

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  But she doesn’t answer, her eyes going glossy as she slumps against the side of the cab, passing out.

  Shit.

  Chapter 23

  Emma

  Carly walks away to hit the ladies’ room, and I head to the walkway of posters. To think that I’m included in the lineup is a huge honor.

  Okay, so not exactly in the ‘Walkway of Wonder’, as I’m calling it. But there’s another set of posters highlighting current productions, and I am in that section.

  I can’t help but go over there first. I find the one for Cleopatra and pull my phone out to take a selfie with my name on the poster. I grin at my phone, the reality of my name and face on marketing posters for a barely off-Broadway production staring me in the face. It’s amazing, it’s awesome, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

  I look up, the smile plastered wide on my face to find . . . no one.

  Sadness washes through me. All the things I’ve given up over the years, fighting with my parents, rebelling in ways that don’t matter to anyone but me, agreeing to do stupid shit for Claire, and what has it gotten me?

  A poster in a collection of a hundred others, one I should be jumping for joy over, sure, but I’m standing here, fucked up and alone.

  I know Carly is here somewhere, but it’s not just that. It’s that tonight is an amazing opportunity and honor, and I want someone to share that with. No, not just someone.

  Nathan.

  He’d told me he’d try to make it, but I’m not holding my breath. We’re still not exactly back on proper footing, though I do feel like he’s trying. We’re moving on, not merely from ground zero but from a bottomless well, and we haven’t even made it to the surface yet.

  He hasn’t touched me again, not since the night we went so rough that I felt seared, inside and out, by the time we were finished. The bruises are all faded, the soreness gone, and I find myself missing them.

  In a twisted way, they were proof that he cared, evidence that he wanted to punish me and not throw away what we have.

  That he was fighting for us.

  I smooth my dress down, tracing my hips and remembering his hands gripping me there so tightly.

  Shuddering, I force myself back to the present. I have worked so hard for this moment and I am going to enjoy the hell out of it. Even if it’s by myself.

  Network, Emma, my memory reminds me. You never know who you’ll meet.

  I can hear my mother’s words in my ear. Ironically, this time, she’s right. I make my way through the ‘Walkway of Wonder’ and begin looking at each poster. It’s interesting to see the differences over time—fonts and styles change, actors and actresses aging before my eyes as posters showcase their careers in play after play.

  I’ve made my way through the lineup on each side and there’s still no sign of Carly. I start to wonder where she is and make my way back over to the poster with my name and picture on it, wanting it to be the first thing I show her so that I can have that celebration moment again. And this time, I’m going to do it properly.

  I’m standing right in front of the poster when the worst possible thing happens.

  “Ahh, Kitty!” a big, deep voice thunders happily.

  I turn, my face paling, wondering why fate likes to fuck with our lives. “Uh, hello, Mr. Romanov. Maritziana.”

  What the fuck are they doing here?

  I mean, it’s a Broadway celebration, and while I’m a believer there’s something for everyone in the theater, I don’t exactly get the feeling he’s a fan of The Lion King or Hamilton.

  I take a couple of steps to the right, hoping they turn ever so slightly to stay facing me and away from the poster. They do, and Maritziana leans forward, pressing her cheek to mine and air kissing on the left, then right.

  “So good to see you again, Kitty.”

  “You too. Are you a fan of the theater?” I say, trying to make small talk and keep my heart from jumping out of my chest.

  She smiles and nods. “Yes. And of parties.” She laughs, lifting her champagne. I laugh back like the joke is funny.

  “Where is Nathan?” Nikola
i asks, scanning the crowd.

  Oh, God. He’s not here.

  I’m standing with one of the most dangerous men in the world and he’s one glance away from knowing I’m a big fucking liar. And I’m well aware that he’s not a man you lie to for any reason. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.

  I know what I have to do. I click into character. Kitty. Nathan’s submissive girlfriend.

  I follow suit, looking at the people around us, pretending like Nathan is here somewhere. Steadying myself, I say demurely, “He allowed me to look at the posters while he mingled and did business. He will be back for me.”

  Nikolai looks at me. His face is blank, unreadable. He might be about to tell a joke or kill me, I don’t know which.

  “Have you seen the ‘Walk of Wonder’?” I lean forward, whispering. “It is not really called that. I just named it that in my head.” I smile like it’s a secret, then offer, “I could show you.”

  I’m praying he’ll take me up on the offer, let me lead him away from the ticking time bomb right behind him. And I think it’s going to work when Nikolai turns to Maritziana, his brows lifted, almost asking if she’d like to go. It’s a surprise kindness.

  But I watch in slow-motion horror as the brightly colored poster catches his attention. In the instant it takes him to turn back to me, his face has changed.

  Fury is written in every line, danger flashing in his eyes.

  “Emma. Daniels. Who is this?” he snaps, moving in close. His breath is hot on my cheek, promising destruction.

  I meet Maritziana’s eyes first, which are spread wide in alarm. Almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head.

  I meet Nikolai’s eyes. “The actress in Cleopatra, it seems,” I say, not exactly playing dumb, but more confused at his sudden change in mood.

  “It is you. This Emma Daniels.” He looks back and forth, double-checking. And while the picture of me is full stage makeup, hair, and costume, it’s fairly apparent that it’s me.

  “I . . . uhm, I . . .” I say, my eyes jumping around wildly.

  He grabs my arm, his thick fingers so tight around my bicep that the skin bulges between them. He shakes me as he speaks, “Where is Nathan? Does he know this? Are you playing him, or is he playing me?”

  He growls and starts dragging me from the room. A scream for help is bubbling up through my throat, a wish for Nathan squeezing my heart.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” a voice hisses from behind me.

  Oh, shit. It’s like a fairy godmother heard my wish and made it come true. He did come.

  Chapter 24

  Nathan

  “Take your hands off her,” I say to Nikolai, letting the possession I feel enter every syllable.

  Nikolai turns to me, his eyes narrowed. “What is the meaning of this?” He lifts his chin toward a poster on the wall and a quick glance tells me he knows exactly who Emma is.

  Fuck. Think, Nathan. Improvise, adapt, overcome.

  Save Emma.

  Save yourself.

  Save the deal.

  In that order. That I think of her first doesn’t escape my notice.

  “It is a poster of Kitty’s play. Your hand is still on her,” I growl. I move forward, taking Emma’s other arm and pulling her to my side forcefully.

  “Explain,” he orders.

  I calmly glance around. “Perhaps we should go somewhere private to discuss business.”

  He nods. “Da. Let us find a room to talk.” He says ‘talk’ like he means ‘kill’. But he walks away, giving me his back and trusting that I’ll follow. As soon as we approach the door, one of his men approaches. “Follow us.”

  The guard takes the rear, and our walk into the lobby seems much more like a perp walk now. We march down a hallway, finding an empty conference room.

  Nikolai stops and addresses Maritziana. “Take one of the other guards and go home to the hotel.”

  She nods and walks out, though I catch her giving Emma a sly look of sadness.

  Once we are slightly private, Nikolai turns to me, his eyes flaring. “Now, explain.”

  I look over to the door, where the guard is standing. “Respectfully, if I’m going to air my dirty laundry, please instruct your guard to wait outside. I am no danger to you. And Kitty certainly isn’t.”

  That’s not exactly true, and I will fight my way out here, even kill, if necessary. But there’s no need for it to come to that. Not yet.

  “Go,” he tells the guard.

  Only after the door closes do I proceed. I’ve had a moment to think as we walked to the room, analyze approaches and possible outcomes, and choose the course of action that will meet mission objectives.

  Save Emma, save myself, save the deal.

  I let all semblance of friendliness fall off my face, hardening my jaw and letting my body swell, imposing and threatening as I lean toward Nikolai. My teeth clenched, I carefully enunciate.

  “Let me be clear, Nikolai. You are never to touch her. It is a disrespect to me, to her, to our potential business alignments. You will apologize for the rudeness.”

  It’s a big gamble, but Nikolai is a man who respects boldness and strength. He purses his lips and then lifts his brow. “I am sorry.”

  The words sound foreign on his tongue, not because of his accent but because I’d wager he’s never actually said them before.

  “And to her.”

  “She is not who she says she is,” he argues, his eyes darting to Emma for a moment before returning to me. “She lies!”

  “I know exactly who she is. Apologize to her, and I will explain. Perhaps then we can continue on as the businessmen we are.” I’m doubling down and hoping for a jackpot.

  “Sorry,” he spits out at Emma, not meaning it a bit, then to me, “now, your explanation.”

  He plops into a chair, leaning back comfortably as if he’s not contemplating killing us both where we stand, but I know better and that thought is first and foremost in his mind.

  I nod but glance at Emma. It’s the first time I’ve dared to look at her with all this going on. She is stunning in a grey dress that hugs her breasts and floats down her body.

  But her eyes are wild and fearful, her face pale with bright spots of color on her cheeks. I lay a soft kiss to her forehead and then lift her chin with a light touch.

  “I apologize as well. I shouldn’t have left you alone so long. I wouldn’t have allowed your skin to be sullied by another.”

  I’m giving a performance of my own, laying it on thick, but I need her to understand my play here. That we are returning to our original story with Nikolai full-force, perhaps even more so, because he would expect me to have even better control over her now.

  Her lashes flutter as she blinks slowly and nods her acceptance. I only hope Nikolai is as easy. “Kitty, kneel.”

  She’s in character, having caught on, thank God, so she gracefully drops to her knees before arranging her skirt around her. Once I’m satisfied with her pose, I sit as well and look to Nikolai.

  “So you saw a poster with my Kitty on it and assumed she was playing me? Or that I was playing you? Correct?”

  “Da,” he says, and I can tell the delay is getting to him. Good. The more amped up he is, the less logical he will be, which helps me.

  “Have you ever dreamed of being someone else, Nikolai? Of not having the Romanov name and all that comes with it?” I ask, improvising on the spot. “I know that while there have been moments I’ve enjoyed being a Stone, there have been others that it was not seen as favorable.”

  He nods, listening and at least on my hook.

  “Kitty here has a name too. Emma Daniels. It also comes with family expectations, professional obligations, and such. But when she is with me, she leaves all that behind and is simply mine. My Kitty.” I reach down, running a finger through her hair, and she tilts into me. It doesn’t feel like an act for a moment but like it’s just us.

  “But she is still Emma, a talented actress who is
quite excited to have been cast in Cleopatra. There is no subterfuge in her name. She is merely one to me and one to everyone else. In the interest of disclosure, I trust that you will do a check on Emma Daniels. You will find that she is the daughter of a loving family and the sister of an FBI agent.”

  “What?” he roars, standing up and slamming his palms to the table in front of him.

  “Calm yourself. Sit.” I take care to make it sound casual, not like the order I gave Emma. “This is not a private board room or one of your restaurants. This is the Four Seasons. She is an informant for me. Her sister occasionally tells her things, which she shares with me. And vice versa. I’m certain you have police and agents in your pocket in Brazil and in Russia. It’s no different.”

  Nikolai glares at me. “Da, I have spies, but I do not use them as fuck toys.”

  I narrow my eyes, insulted. “Kitty isn’t a plaything. She’s mine. And if you call her a fuck toy again . . . I will take it as a personal insult. And there will be consequences.”

  Though the words are intended to save us, they ring truer than I’d realized they would. My heart jumps at the realization, blooming dangerous thoughts.

  “You should have told me,” he challenges.

  I let a dark chuckle out, challenging him. “As you have shared all your secrets with me? No, I think not. But perhaps now that we are alone, we can finish our business? Are you ready to come to an agreement? Has your father made his decision?”

  Bringing Papa Romanov into the conversation is intentional, a distracting ploy to make Nikolai feel small. He will rise to the challenge to prove himself big. It’s who he is and what he does, every time.

  He looks to Emma, evaluating what he wants to say now that he knows she reports to the FBI for me. To put his mind at ease, I say, “She reports back only what I tell her to. This is of no concern to the FBI, merely a son paying homage to his father.”

  “A decision has been made,” he says, not filling in the blanks on whose call it was, though we both know. “The package for safe passage as you outlined.”