by S. C. Daiko
It’s our escape valve, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
A slow song starts, and I notice Becca and Jack, Ben and Olivia have paired off and are swaying to the music in each other’s arms. Gabe, Eleri and Luke are also dancing together… the two men holding her sandwiched between them. Matt is with his little sister, Zoe, and Gleb is whirling my sister, Megan, around. She’ll be immune to his charms, though; she’s committed to her boyfriend back in Wales.
Daniel stands and holds out his hand. “Will you dance with me, Mrs Collins.”
He holds me pressed against him as we rock to the music. His hard planes against my soft curves. Our gazes lock together. I remember the time when his eyes were so broken, so filled with despair. He bends his head and kisses me. “I love you, my darling. Happy Anniversary.”
“Happy Anniversary, Daniel.” I return his kiss. “I love you so much.”
© 2018 by S.C. Daiko
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. The locations are a mixture of real and imagined. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or any events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design RBA Designs
Content editing Trenda Lundin
All enquiries to [email protected]
Prologue
Eva
Two Years Ago
I cross my arms above my head, closing my eyes and swaying my body in time to the throbbing bass rhythm. The upbeat vibe of the dance music and the screwdriver cocktail I just drank are making me feel good... not so out of place as I was feeling a couple of minutes ago. Lure has got to be the swankiest club I’ve ever been in; not that I’ve been in many. Opulently decorated and oozing style, so freaking exclusive they use face recognition to let you in. I’m here only because my bestie, Tamara, is dating one of the Russian bouncers; we wouldn’t have gotten past the doorman otherwise.
The stench of male sweat alerts me to the presence of someone invading my space; I open my eyes. “Back off,” I glare at the random getting a little too up-close-and-personal. Thick red hair slicked back from a domed forehead, he gives me the ‘wanna hook-up?’ look, dark eyes heavy with lust.
Not my type.
I curl my lip with disgust, flip him the bird and head for the bar.
Where the hell is Tamara?
Glancing around for my bestie, I make my way past beautiful people sitting on dark leather chairs at candle-lit tables. I perch on a stool at the far end of the room, the skirt of my black lace dress riding up embarrassingly high. Another thing; it’s not even my dress but Tamara’s. Can’t remember the last time I wore anything other than jeans. I work long hours as a server in an Italian restaurant to pay my way through school, and glamorous outfits are not part of my budget.
I’ll kill Tamara when I find her. Not literally, but I’m so angry I could spit. How dare she bail on me!
Dammit, this was supposed to be my night; it was her idea we came here to celebrate my twenty-first birthday.
With a heavy sigh, I order a second screwdriver and knock it back.
“Can I get you another drink?” the voice is heavily accented, the hard consonants revealing the speaker to be from the country where I was born.
Yikes, the random from the dance floor.
I decline, thanking him in my first language, “Net, spasibo.”
He switches into Russian. “Don’t be like that.” He eyes me up and down. “Name your price, Kitten.”
I move my head away, a strand of dark hair falling across my cheek. “What do you mean?”
“How much for the whole night?” he leans into me.
I let out a gasp. “I’m not a hooker.”
“A sexy girl in here on her own?” His lewd smirk makes me nauseous. “Could have fooled me.”
I fight the urge to grab him by the balls. “Sorry to disappoint you.” I lie sweetly. “My boyfriend will be here in a minute. In the meantime, I need to go to the bathroom.”
Without a backward glance, I slide off the stool and head toward a door to the left of the bar.
The random laughs mockingly behind my back, making the hair on my neck prickle. I pause at the door and turn around to give him the finger, but he’s already gone.
Good riddance.
Letting out a relieved breath, I step over threshold into what I’m fully expecting to be the rest room. Except I find myself in a corridor, plush carpeting under my feet.
Without warning, my head starts to spin. Shit, I shouldn’t have drunk that cocktail so fast. I can’t see any signs indicating the ladies. Maybe I can escape for a few minutes behind one of these doors? I’m not that desperate to use the facilities, just need somewhere peaceful to sit and wait for my mind to clear.
I walk into an office unlike any I’ve been in before. Ritzy, with an executive desk in the center the size of my bed at home. My eyes are immediately drawn to a stack of banknotes on top of the shiny surface. I tiptoe across the room.
Wow, it’s a pile of one-hundred-dollar bills.
I pick one up to examine it.
Surely these can’t be real?
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” booms a baritone voice.
The air around me compresses, and I spin around.
A man in a tux is standing in the doorway, piercing blue eyes glowering at me. He’s so big his shoulders nearly meet the doorjambs.
And he’s drawn a freaking gun!
“I was looking for the bathroom.” I drop the money back on the table, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Blue Eyes paces up to me; he holsters his firearm and grabs my wrist. “Who sent you to snoop?” His English is good, but I detect a familiar intonation. “Was it Vadim Rayt?” he adds.
“No one sent me,” I blurt out in Russian. “I’m telling the truth.”
I try to squirm out of Blue Eyes’ hold, but he pulls me against his rock-hard chest, towering above me and invading my senses with his spicy sandalwood cologne.
“Let me go.” I struggle and aim a kick at his shin.
His laugh is scornful. “Not before you give me a better explanation.”
I bite my lower lip, trying to come up with something. “I just needed some time out.”
“Time out? You’ve got to be kidding. The only women who come in here on their own are hookers. High-class hookers who bribe the doorman.” His gaze roves over my body. “Either you’re a whore or a spy. Which one is it?”
An idea occurs to me. How I can extricate myself from this situation. “I’m a hooker,” my voice purrs.
I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I’ve never been so blatant... like ever. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Once I’ve gotten his pants down around his legs I’ll make a run for it. I reach for his belt buckle with my free hand.
With a groan he lets go of my wrist and pushes me to my knees. “You better be good.”
I’ve never given a blow-job in my life. It wasn’t something I felt I could offer my ex, the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.
But I’m not gonna suck Blue Eyes off, am I?
This is only a means to an end.
I pull down his suit pants, and he releases his monster cock himself. Oh. My. God. There’s a ring-style piercing at the tip. Is that what they call a Prince Albert? I stare at it, fascinated.
“Like what you see, Kiska?”
Somehow, I don’t mind being called kitten by him.
Mistake, Eva.
Big mistake.
Focus on the task at hand ... You need to get out of here.
I jump to my feet and prep
are to run.
But he grabs me by the hair, yanking me against him. “Oh, yes, you are good, little slut. But not as good as you think you are. Time you learned a lesson.”
He steps out of his pants and drags me over to his executive chair.
“What are you doing?” I yelp.
“Punishing you for attempting a fast one. I’m going to spank your ass.”
“And then you’ll let me go.” It’s more a statement than a question.
“One step at a time, Kiska. First, I will punish you... then we negotiate.”
He bends me over his knee, lifts my dress and pulls my panties down. The slaps come hard and fast. I can feel my face burning up but, at the same time, wetness is trickling out of me. Shit!
Warmth spreads across my ass and I start pushing my butt against his firm hand, his hardness pressing into my stomach.
This is insane.
“You like it, don’t you?”
His fingers dip down and find my slit.
One finger slips in easily. He adds a second and then a third. I rock against them.
Jesus, what has gotten into me?
Without warning he stands, pulling me to my feet and pushing his fingers between my lips. “Lick them clean.”
And I do, tasting myself for the first time ever. Tangy and musky.
God, I’ve totally lost my mind.
This man is a complete stranger. But he’s all man, and I want him.
I’ll never see him again.
It will be like we’re ships that pass in the night.
Something for me to remember while I work my ass off day after day in that restaurant.
“Please, fuck me,” I whimper.
He quirks a dark brow. “Sure?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
We’re toe-to-toe. I raise my chin. He bends and crashes his mouth down. His tongue penetrates me as he deepens the kiss, his hand tugging my hair. He tastes of wine, lust and cigars. He strokes his other hand up my neck and presses his thumb into the hollow of my throat. I release a needy moan.
With ragged breaths, we draw apart, our eyes locked. His gaze is mesmerizing, and I’m like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
“You on the pill?”
I shake my head.
He pulls open the top drawer of his desk and extracts a small foil packet. He rips it wide with his teeth. “Put it on.”
I do as he asks, sliding the condom over his piercing and down his long, thick shaft. It’s massive... veined and swollen, twitching beneath my fingers. Sudden doubt spirals through me. But before I can say a word, Blue Eyes lifts me to my feet and pulls me to his body. “Wrap your legs around my waist, Kiska.”
The skirt of my dress has ridden up so high it’s below my tits. My panties and shoes are God knows where. I’m behaving out of character, but I don’t fucking care. With my thighs wrapped around him, and his hot breath in the air between us, the only thing I want is his cock.
Deep inside me.
He rubs the pierced head against my clit. My hips jerk once, twice, and then he’s thrusting, impaling me. He holds me under my arms and maneuvers me up against the wall.
I’m filled with him and it feels incredible.
I let out a throaty moan and wrap my legs tighter, pulling him deeper.
His hands, around my ass now, stiffen as he pushes his cock upward. My body opens for him, taking him in. All of him. And then I’m cresting and a wash of cum gushes out of me. “Mmm...”
The fastest orgasm of my life.
He groans and pumps his hips, pounding faster and faster.
His shaft raises me.
My fingers twist in the hair at his nape.
Another groan and I feel his dick spasm, the piercing rubbing against my cervix. He lifts me off and I slide down his body.
My eyes follow his movements, and it’s like slow motion. He stares at his cock, at his cum trickling out of a rip in the top of the condom.
“Fuck.” He shakes his head.
I back away from him, coldness spreading through me.
I’m suddenly sober.
What the hell have I done?
“It’s alright,” he says, reaching for a one-hundred-dollar bill on the desk and shoving it toward me. “Just get yourself the morning after pill and you’ll be fine.”
My cheeks burning, I take the note; I’m trying to appear nonchalant even though I’m mortified by my own behavior. I spot my panties and bend to pick them up with my shoes. Then, with as much dignity as I can muster given that his cum is trickling down my inner thighs, I adjust my dress and head out of the club.
Chapter Thirty-One
Gleb
Two years Later
I look up from my desk as Yuri paces into my office. “Good morning, Boss,” he greets me in my mother tongue, his bald head shining under the overhead lighting. We grew up on the streets of Moscow together, lost touch for a couple of decades, then reconnected through mutual connections with the Vory, Russian Mafia bosses. I sponsored Yuri for a visa as soon as I’d established myself here in New Jersey ten years ago; he’s my right-hand-man.
Laptop open in front of me, I scan the list of people behind on their payments in my loan shark business. A sideline to Lure, my nightclub, but my main activity is money laundering the illegal funds of wealthy clients.
Yuri stands with his feet apart. “Need me to handle anything?” He licks his lips. Yuri enjoys his collection duties; they give him a sense of power and feed his thirst for blood.
I tap the short beard on my chin, checking the data on my computer. “Ivan Petrenko has missed two payments. What do you know about his circumstances?” I draw my eyebrows together. “I remember we loaned him some of the cash he needed to start a dance school. Is it not doing that well?”
Yuri laughs. “Petrenko and his wife were ballroom champions back in Russia. Doesn’t mean they have the business acumen to be successful here, though. They’ve probably over-extended themselves.”
I steeple my fingers. “Hmm. Bring him in for a chat, will you?”
“Sure thing.” Yuri rubs his hands together. “I’ll go get him straight away.”
I watch my right-hand man stalk across the carpeted floor, then I tap my knuckles on the desk. I usually give clients more time to pay up if they’re genuinely in difficulties. But, to preserve my badass reputation, I always make them sweat first.
My cell-phone rings and I check the caller ID. Fucking Vadim Rayt, my main ‘business’ rival. I switch the call to voicemail and my mouth goes dry. I’ve started lending to some of Vadim’s clients and I’m sure he isn’t happy about the situation.
Another chime of my ring-tone. I glance at the screen, but it’s only my brother, Daniel. “Hey, bro’.” I’ve stopped speaking to him in Russian; I don’t even call him by his birth-name, Alexei, anymore.
A long story...
“How’s Ben doing?” he asks. “He hasn’t called us in weeks.”
I tilt my head back. I love Daniel’s eighteen-year-old son as if he was mine. Ben, aka ‘Brash’, is like a clone of myself at his age. I’ve given him a bartender job in the club for the duration of the summer vacation. “He’s doing great,” I reassure my brother.
“Perfect.” I hear the relief in Daniel’s voice. “As long as he isn’t playing computer games all day...”
“We’ll come up for the week soon, bro’. Wouldn’t mind some fishing.” I bought myself a small place in Colorado last year, closer to Denver than Daniel’s house, which is situated in the remote hills an hour or so from Fort Collins. “You and Catrin can leave the rest of your tribe with the nanny and spend some time with us, maybe?” I suggest.
“Sounds like a plan,” he laughs.
We disconnect, and then I bite the bullet and listen to Vadim’s message.
As I thought.
He’s threatening me with a turf war if I don’t stop poaching his clients.
I pour a coffee from the machine on the sideboard and lig
ht up a Davidoff cigar. Blowing out a smoke ring, I deliberate on my options. I guess Brash and I will be making that fishing trip sooner rather than later, and I’ll be the only one returning to Fairwood. No way am I putting my nephew in danger. In the meantime, I’ll placate Vadim with false promises.
A knock, and the office door swings open as Yuri enters with a short, gray-haired man.
Keeping the cigar burning, I scowl at Ivan Petrenko, eyeing his bony nose and narrow, pursed lips. “Do you have any explanation for these missed payments?” I show him his file on my laptop screen. “I’m running out of patience,” my voice barks.
“I’m so sorry,” the man is visibly sweating. “One of our clients had an accident and our insurance doesn’t cover the claim against us. It’s bleeding the business dry.”
“You should have bought more comprehensive insurance.” I rub the back of my neck and give him a fierce look. “Can you offer me any collateral to guarantee I’ll at least get my investment back. For example, jewelry?”
Petrenko shakes his head nervously. “We sold everything before we left Russia. My brother sponsored us to come here seven years ago, but he passed away last January. His money went to his son, who is refusing to help us out.”
I lean forward and twirl my cigar, still fixing him in my gaze. I’ll give him more time, I decide. He looks trustworthy enough. I open my mouth to make the offer, but Petrenko pulls a photo out of his wallet and shows it to me. “This is my daughter. Twenty-three years old. If I sell her to you for a year, can she work in lieu of a salary which can go toward my repayments? We should have gotten ourselves straight by then.”
My jaw drops.
Jesus, what dickhead would actually ‘sell’ his own daughter?
My opinion of Ivan Petrenko falls through the floor. I stare at the image of a dark-haired beauty. She looks a little familiar, but I can’t place her. “I don’t ‘buy’ girls,” I snarl.
“She has experience waiting tables,” he rushes his words, “and she’s a hard worker. You wouldn’t regret it.”