Sold to the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Lavrin Bratva)
Page 13
I react immediately, lunging forward and yanking her up by the arm. My momentum carries us back down the path. I pull her into my embrace as we tuck and roll. The loose rocks tear at my shirt and skin, and I roar in pain. I hear the branch give way as it crashes into the ground where Annie just was with a thunderous boom. The ground shakes, squirrels titter in fear, and birds caw as they flap away.
We roll to a stop at the base of another tree. I look back and shudder. To come this far and be killed by a tree ... fate would have to have a very cruel sense of humor.
My adrenaline subsides and I turn my attention to the girl in my arms. Her breath is rising and falling rapidly, heart beating like a hummingbird. She combs the hair back from her face and looks up at me. Neither of us says a word for a moment, but my chest throbs with an almost painful pang. She looks beautiful in the moonlight. Fragile and dirty and scared, yes. But beautiful. She’s tucked against my chest, with my arms encircling her and keeping her close. The warmth of her body is intoxicating.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Just peachy,” she responds. I can see the war inside her. Gratitude for saving her, wonder at just what exactly is happening between us. Anger at what I’ve done to her, fear at what’s being done to us. All of it brewing and bubbling and threatening to explode.
She disentangles herself from me abruptly and stands up, checking herself for any wounds suffered while I grabbed her and rolled. Finding nothing, she claps the dirt from her hands. “As you were,” she says sarcastically.
I nod and get to my feet. Once again, the moment passes, and our respective masks settle back into place. “We should almost be there.”
***
Annie stays closer to me as we go back up, stepping carefully over the fallen branch and checking every few seconds to make sure no other trees are eager to drop a limb on our heads. At the edge of a cliff, I spot a rock with a stick figure carving. A smile tugs at my lips. I remember using my little pocketknife to chisel away at the rock, pretending I was some sort of explorer marking my territory. My father laughed and burst my bubble when he told me this was his secret hiding place.
But my father is dead. This is mine now.
I clamber up onto the cliff and look over the edge. A thin patina of crisscrossed branches hides whatever is below from sight. Given where we are on the mountain, it could just as easily be a thousand-foot drop into a shadowy chasm, though I know better.
I jump off the edge, crash through the branches, and land on the packed dirt a few feet below.
When the dust settles, Annie calls to me from above. “Nikita?” Her voice has a nervous warble.
“I’m down here. You’ll have to jump.”
“Umm.” I can hear her above, though the branches hide her from sight. A few crumbs of dirt fall as she fusses around, hoping for a better way down. I remember doing the same with my father. The drop is scary for those who don’t know what lies below. It’s a truly blind fall.
Annie will just have to trust me.
“It’s okay, Annie. I promise.”
I hear her take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she says nervously.
“I’ll catch you.”
“Okay ... are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Just jump.”
A few quiet moments pass, filled only by the sounds of the nighttime forest. Rustling in the bushes, the occasional whoosh of a bat winging after insects.
Then I hear the scuffle of dirt. She’s jumping. The branches part to give way to Annie as she slices down. I have just a split second to register the fear in her eyes before she lands in my arms. I bend my knees to absorb her impact. It takes everything I have, especially given the pain in my shoulder and knee, but I manage to keep my feet.
I set her down on her feet. But I hold her close, unwilling to let her go just yet. Heat and electricity course through my blood at having her body so close to mine. Her scent invades my nose. A mixture of sweat, lilac, and something wholly Annie. I hold onto her for longer than I should.
She’s wincing. I look down and notice a thin trickle of blood between her toes. The wounds on her feet must have opened up again. “We’re almost there. Can you keep walking?” I say.
“Yes.”
She waits for me to lead, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. My pace is slower as I guide her through the thicket. It’s only a few dozen paces after the jump, but I’m moving carefully in the dark, placing every step just so in order to keep us safe in the night. Then I push aside a hanging curtain of moss and glide past.
“We’re here.”
I stop at the edge of the clearing and take it in. Everything is as I remember. The fallen stumps my father and I would sit on as we ate. The remnants of the firepit stones, arranged in a rough circle from our last visit. Even the old tin bucket I forgot to take back home still remains, though years have passed since it was last used.
The moonlight shines through the gap in the treetops, casting the whole place in a smooth, otherworldly glow. Beneath our feet, there is soft grass, like a blanket laid down in the middle of the forest.
“This place is beautiful,” Annie says, releasing her fingers from mine and walking to the center of the clearing. I feel a soft tingle where I was holding her hand.
She stops in the middle, tilts her head up, and grins. Her smile shines like stars after dark, with no city lights to dim them. I admire her while she admires the night sky. These past two days, I couldn’t wait to get home to her, to have her and taste her. And now that I have, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to give her up.
I follow her gaze to the starry night above. It’s a brilliant van Gogh, everything bigger and brighter, sharper and closer. It feels like the sky is pressing down on us. Like I could reach a hand up and touch it if I wanted to.
“You and your father came here a lot?”
I turn to look at Annie. She’s looking back at me with a curious, unreadable emotion in her eyes. “Yes. This was our little hideaway. We’d camp here once a year.”
“Do you miss him?”
The question surprises me, like a blow to the chest. “I’ve never thought about that before. I guess ... yes, I do.” I haven’t said that even once since the day he died. It feels uncomfortable and yet oddly relieving. “You should sit,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m sure your feet need the rest.”
She walks over to me. “Not before we take care of your wound. It’s pretty deep.”
“I’m out of luck if stitches are needed.”
She shakes her head. “Luckily, I grabbed some butterfly closures from the medicine cabinet.”
“Okay, little bird. Fix me up.” I untie the makeshift bandage, then unbutton my shirt and take it off. The crisp air hits my skin and goose bumps spring to life. Though, I’m not sure if they’re from the cold air or the way Annie’s eyes run over my body. My cock twitches when her eyes rove down to my zipper.
Annie blushes when she notices I’ve caught her staring. Her eyes dart around as she tries to avoid me. She absently twirls a stray lock of hair between her fingers before she points to the left. “Um, let’s sit over on the log so I can take care of that,” she says and hurries away from me.
I sit down as Annie pulls supplies from the bag. She lays them out on the ground then looks me over once more. She grabs the peroxide and, with her other hand, spreads open my wound before she squirts the antiseptic liquid onto it. I flinch from the initial burn, my teeth sinking into my inner cheek. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“Trust me, I know,” she says, tilting her head down towards her feet.
I run my hand through my hair and sigh. Both of us could do with some serious medical care and rest. But it won’t happen tonight.
She nods and continues cleaning out my wound. Then, she pats it down to dry the skin around it before placing the butterfly closures on it. Once she’s done, she places a fresh gauze square over the wound and rewraps the piece of the sweatpants she cut up earlier to hold everything in place.
I place a finger under Annie’s chin and tip it up so that her eyes meet mine. “Thank you.” The air around us is charged, vibrating. Again, I stare deeply into her eyes, wondering which side of her is winning the war in her mind and heart.
She snorts and pulls away from my grasp, busying herself by putting all of the supplies away. “Finally, the mob boss learns some manners.”
I open my mouth to retort and then close it again. Annie smiles shyly, pats my arm, and then sits next to me on the ground, a slight shiver running through her body. I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer. The last thing either of us needs is to die from hypothermia. Up at this altitude, that’s a very realistic threat. Annie rests her head on my shoulder and every one of my senses tingle. God, how I love having her this close to me.
“Thank you for keeping me safe,” she whispers, her warm breath caressing my skin.
I run my fingers over her arms and press my nose into her scalp, inhaling. She presses closer to me and curls up, wrapping an arm around my waist. One day, when we aren’t running for our lives, I’m going to bring Annie back here and we’re going to camp out just like I used to do with my father.
“Where did you learn first aid?” I ask.
It’s an innocent enough question, so I’m surprised when every muscle in Annie’s body tenses and times passes before she speaks. “My father used to come home with wounds that my mom and I would have to tend to.”
“Was he a cop?”
Annie sighs. “I wish. He was a scumbag. He worked for the mob.”
Air rushes from my lungs. A thousand thoughts run through my head, all inadequate for the moment. I can see the hurt and anger in her eyes. There’s a story there, an ugly one. I wrap my arms tighter when she begins to shiver again.
She starts speaking before I can figure out what I should say. “I wish I could forget a lot of it. Mom and I used to be afraid all the time. Bricks would be thrown through our windows and we even had body parts delivered to our house. I’ll never forget the first time I opened a box and found a finger in it.”
Her voice cracks and my heart aches at the thought of Annie—a young Annie, no less—finding a severed finger. That would never happen on my watch. Not that I haven’t sent similar warnings. But I would never involve a young child.
On purpose, at least.
“Eventually my father got arrested. It was in the newspapers. The whole school found out and everyone turned on me. Not that they didn’t already harass me for being poor, for wearing hand-me-down clothes, or for not having food. But my family did the best they could. Eventually, my mother and I moved and started over.”
“Your mom sounds like a strong woman,” I say.
“She is. She learned how to sew my father’s wounds closed. She kept a brave face when our home was attacked. And she prayed with me every night. When we moved, she went and learned the skills she needed to get a job, and she worked hard. I get my work ethic from her. No shortcuts like my dad tried.”
Out of nowhere, I think back to the old man who was dragged in front of me at the club the night I bought Annie. It wasn’t so long ago, and yet the details are already hazy and indistinct. His eyes, begging for help. I could have let him go, fixed him up, solved his problems. All that was within my grasp. I had only to say the word.
I could have given him mercy. Instead, I gave him pain.
Did I send him home to young children with bloodstained clothes and crushing debt? Was his family afraid, the same way Annie was as a child?
“Are you okay?” Annie searches my face.
“Yes.” I run my fingers through her hair absentmindedly. “I was just thinking about what you told me. What happened after you moved?”
She settles back down against me. “It all worked out in the end. Mom got us a house and I worked hard on my grades and ended up with a full ride to college.” Her soft lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are lit with sadness.
Almost a happy ending. She almost made it. Maybe she would have.
If it weren’t for me.
I took away her life. I ruined what her mother worked hard to give her. I dragged her back into the hell she escaped once before. I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself as much as I do in this moment. I’ve never hated the life I live or the things I’ve done to secure my place in the underworld.
“Do you talk to your father?”
She bites the corner of her lower lip. “No. He’s dead. Died in jail. But even if he was alive, I wouldn’t have anything to say to him. I’ve moved on, made a good life for myself. And I don’t want to remember what he represents. I don’t want to live like that ever again.”
Looking at Annie, I’m not so sure I want to continue living this life. Maybe there’s another way. Maybe I can be like her and her mother and start over. Have a life where I’m not looking over my shoulder. A life where I can take my family camping and not worry about bullets flying through our windows.
Maybe it’s time I consider leaving the business I was born into.
Chapter Fifteen
Annie
“Nikita?”
He’s lost in thought, staring off into the distance. His facial muscles tense and his jaw ticks. I’m not sure where his mind is or if I can help him. Nor even if I should.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess,” Nikita says.
I look up and him and offer a weak smile. Then, I place a gentle kiss on his chest, just above his heart. A low growl vibrates from within him and I clench my knees together. Something about the sounds he makes stokes the fires within me.
Nikita pulls me closer and my hands slide up his arms. After our encounter on top of the table in the penthouse, and after everything else that followed, I want to feel him again. I want him to touch me again. He runs his fingertips down my spine, his touch sending sparks along my skin as he pushes my sweatshirt up and over my head. I unbutton his and push it from his shoulders, the bloodied material falling to the ground.
“Jesus, Annie. You make me so hard from just looking at you.” He pushes gently at my shoulders so I’m lying flush against the grass.
I wince when my bare skin connects with the cold ground, but Nikita is quick to clamp his mouth down on mine, and all thoughts of cold are forgotten as my skin flushes with heat. His hands roam over my bare skin and up into my hair. I hook my finger through the belt loop of his pants, pulling him forward and lifting my head to deepen our kiss.
“Nikita,” I whisper, pressing my body into his, my legs winding around my hips. His erection nudges against my heated sex and I tilt my hips, grinding against him. I slide my hands around his hips, pushing his pants down until they bunch up about mid-thigh. “Take these off. Take everything off.”
Nikita chuckles and swipes at my lower lip with his tongue before he climbs off me to shed the rest of his clothes. My gaze drops to between his legs and my eyes widen when he sheds his boxer briefs. His cock rises from its base, proud and fierce, thick and veiny. I swallow hard.
He leans over me and settles his mass on top of mine, so that I’m lying beneath him. Nikita Lavrin has a body like no other man I’ve been with before. All solid mass and smooth skin, defined muscles and broad chest and shoulders. He’s all I can see and hear and smell and taste while he lies on top of me, his long fingers curled around my wrists, holding my arms captive above my head.
What we’re doing is so completely unexpected, so unbelievably exciting, my entire body is shaking in anticipation. He’s kissing me like he’s a starving man and I’m the only thing he craves. I can feel his thick erection nudging between my legs, and I’m so wet for him it’s almost embarrassing.
But I don’t care. I’m drunk on the sensation of his body pressing into mine, his hungry mouth, his insistent tongue, those big, rough hands pinning me to the floor.
I had no idea being
held down would arouse me so much, but oh my God, I’m so hot for him I feel like I’m going to burst. My center is dripping and I’m aching for relief. I need Nikita’s tongue on me, sucking my clit like he did after dinner. I want to come on his mouth.
He whispers in my ear after breaking our kiss, “I’m not sure if I’ll last very long. I might just come all over your hands the moment you touch me.”
I want to laugh. I also want to moan. His blunt words turn me on. I’m dying to feel his member in my hands, in my mouth, and especially inside of me. I want him to fill me and stretch me again. I open my lips and tell him the truth: “I’m dying to taste you.”
His eyes lock with mine. They’re dark and full of smoldering heat. I want to stroke him, to make Nikita lose all control until he bursts in my grasp. Then I want to place my fingers into my mouth and suck them clean, tasting him.
Restlessly, I rub my legs against his. “Soon. But first, I want to touch you.” His voice lowers as his fingers loosen gently around my wrists, until they’re slipping away and he’s nuzzling my neck with his face, his hands skimming along my sides. “I want to explore you properly this time. I want to take my time and savor you.”
I’m not going to protest. That’s exactly what I want him to do. All I can do is hold on for dear life. I sling my arms around his neck, my hands in his hair, gently guiding him down as he rains kisses across my collarbone, to my chest, to the tops of my breasts. My nipples ache for his mouth to wrap around them and his lips are everywhere but there. I don’t know if I can stand this exquisite torture, his hands gripping my hips, his mouth all over my sensitive skin. I tighten my hold on his hair, tugging hard until he mutters a curse against my flesh before he licks one nipple, then the other.
The ragged moan that escapes me is nothing like the usual sounds I make in bed, and I clamp my lips shut, momentarily embarrassed. But then he does it again, his velvety damp tongue flicking back and forth over my nipple, driving me absolutely wild. Another shuddery moan leaves me, and I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him to me as he licks and sucks and edges his teeth on my flesh, gently nipping.