He’s talking about Emma. I need to be careful. Stanislav is good at these mind games. Threats and implications. A word or a phrase to unsettle you. “I’ve been asking Igor to explain something and I think you may be able to help.” He shifts in his chair, and I aim the gun at him. “It seems Igor signed the contract for purchase of the Quayside development. All the money has been released from the escrow account where it was held.” His face darkens. “Strangely, though, I can’t seem to be able to get the deeds to the property from the owner’s account. That tells me that it’s still awaiting payment.”
“I’ve had the plane kept under guard. I’ll have your trinket brought here. Perhaps it’s something we can all enjoy.”
Hearing him talk about Emma that way makes me want to strangle him. I hold my temper, but it’s a huge effort.
He presses it. “Is she important to you?”
I point the gun straight in his face. He doesn’t flinch.
But he shouts, “Now, Petrov!”
Behind me, double doors connecting to the other part of the suite swing open.
I spring to crouch beside Stanislav. My arms are extended, aiming the Glock. I pivot toward the doors. The first sight of the body emerging in the doorway, I get two shots, straight to the central mass. The man drops an Uzi as he splays, loose and limp. He lands in a heap.
There’s another. I know there will be two.
I’m ready as the second man steps into the doorway. He sees me and his arms stretch out to either side. He has an Uzi, too. But he’s pointing it out. Away and into the wall of the other room. A professional.
He shows no fear, but he stands open handed, arms wide. Shows that he won’t put up resistance.
Keeping the gun aimed at him, I tell him in Russian, “Lay the weapon down.”
I’m still crouched by Stanislav’s side. If anyone takes a shot at me, they have to risk hitting him. The hired help might not care about that, but it should focus Stanislav’s attention.
The man lowers himself, bending at the knees, arms still outstretched. He lays down the Uzi, flat on the floor, still pointed away.
I say nothing as I watch him. I know that’s not all the arms he’s carrying. He’s a pro, and a pro always has fallbacks.
And he must know that I know that.
He looks at me. Studies my face. Lifts his arm and points to his back. I nod. Slowly, he reaches behind him and pulls a nine-millimeter automatic from the back of the waistband of his pants. Holds it hanging from his thumb and forefinger, pointed down. Lays it on the floor.
Then he pulls a Mauser from his pocket. Lays it next to the other two guns.
“Is that all?” I ask him.
“Not quite.”
He has a thin Ruger automatic tucked into a long sock. And an evil-looking hunting knife is strapped to the other side of his leg.
“That’s it.” He tells me, after he’s put them, neatly, by the side of the rest of his arsenal.
“Phones. Wallet. Keys,” I tell him.
Keeping the gun on him while he empties his pockets, I rise, move to stand behind Stanislav’s chair.
Then, when he’s pulled out the linings of his pants pockets to show they’re empty, I make a single wave toward the exit door with my gun.
Slowly, with clear movements, the man crosses the floor. Looks down at the bodies of the two men in the doorway. I wonder if they were friends of his.
He doesn’t look like the kind of man I need to worry about. He’s too well-trained to get irrational for revenge.
You never know, though.
I weigh the odds of letting him go. Consider the risks and all the implications.
I stand in the middle of the room, between Stanislav and Igor, Stanislav to my right, Igor on the left. A triangle.
“Stanislav,” I tell him, “I don’t think you’ve been entirely fair with me. The surprise raid at the airport, two cops to bring me in. Tied, Stanislav. Fucking tied.” I frown. “Then telling me to meet at your fucking office.”
“Anatoly,” Stanislav spreads his hands open. He does it with an economic movement, though. None of his usual flourish. “I had to protect my interests. You understand that. I wouldn’t have done you any harm.”
“No?” I asked him, “if I had gone to your office, would I still be breathing now?”
“Okay, Anatoly.” He blinks a slow acknowledgement. “Maybe there’s something we need to work out.”
I don’t have much time. I need to get back to Emma. I’m thinking about Stanislav’s henchman. The one I let go. I think I made a safe choice, but I can’t take too many chances.
I shoot to drill one neat hole on the bridge of Stanislav’s nose. Place another bullet about a half inch above. He only shudders. Like he’s jolted from two big electric shocks. But his eyes don’t move. Not anymore.
Flinching, Igor’s face twists. “You are going to fucking kill me as well, aren’t you.” He wriggles, struggling against the ties. It won’t do him much good, he’s too well tied. He pleads. “Either Stanislav’s paid you or he hasn’t. You won’t get any more for shooting me now.” I don’t like a man pleading.
I tell him, “I don’t have any reason to shoot you. And anyway, I delivered on my mission. You’re here. I even earned the fucking bonus.”
“Shooting the client, though,” Igor says. “That’s a break with protocol, isn’t it? Drastic, even for you, Anatoly.”
He makes me angry. “You don’t fucking know anything about me, so shut your fucking mouth.” I could shoot him. I feel like it.
But I don’t. As I’m stepping over the two men in the doorway, Igor shouts, “You’re not going to leave me like this, are you?” His voice has risen in pitch. He sounds anxious. “What if one of these fuckers comes round?”
I throw him a look back, but I say nothing. Ungrateful fucking idiot.
His face reddens. “It will only be a few minutes before the cops get here,” his pitch rises again, “are you going to leave me like this? So I’ll be found in a room full of bodies?”
“Trussed up like an oven ready chicken, Igor, I can’t see you being a prime suspect.” As I’m leaving, “Anyway, I know you had special forces training. If you were paying attention at all, you’ll know how to deal with cable ties with your shoelaces.”
“I was never any good at that shit. All the cloak and dagger stuff.”
“Great chance to practice, then.” As I’m heading out the door, I call back, “Otherwise, you’ll be able to learn whether you bought the right policemen.”
I leave the hotel floor by the emergency stairs. On the next floor down, I slip across to the staircase on the other side of the building. Zigzag all the way down to the ground level. Then I make a show of swaggering through the foyer. It’s a chance to see whether I have anything extra to worry about. The coast is clear as far as I can see.
I make my way down to the basement, then out through the underground car park. I could take one of the Maseratis or Aston Martins parked in here. I’m sure they all belong to gangsters Still, I remember that I’ve got something even better upstairs.
Even the thick rush hour traffic on Moscow Thursday afternoon parts like the dead sea in front of the lights and sirens of the police car.
Chapter 16
Her
THROUGH THE COCKPIT DOOR, I heard a heated argument. I recognize the captain’s voice, and the other must have been one of the two cops. If that’s what they are. I guess the bigger, bulky, thuggish looking cop is the one shouting at the pilot.
The handle on the cockpit door rattles. Then I hear the captain’s voice again.
I couldn’t hear them well enough to make out any of what they said. I wouldn’t have understood any of it, anyway. It was all in Russian. I grip on tight to the arms of the seat, try to keep my breathing regular. Stay calm.
He’s going to come back for me. I tell myself over and over. I know he will.
I just hope he gets here in time.
The voices in the cockpit
grow louder. There are a couple of thuds. Then a clatter.
The cockpit door bursts open, banging as it slams against the bulkhead. The big cop fills the doorway. Lurching toward me, he blocks out the light almost completely. With the light behind him, I can’t see his face.
I can smell the sweat, though, as soon as he enters the cabin.
He snarls something at me in Russian. Then he says something else, and he chuckles.
His laugh is the most frightening thing I’ve ever heard. He lumbers toward me, leaning down as he lurches forward. He yells in Russian. A command. His fingers curl, palm up. Beckoning. His fingers wiggle like some kind of sea-creature.
Instinctively, I push into the back of the chair, like if I press hard enough against the arms, shove into the back of the chair, I’ll at least have some leverage.
I only have one form of defense. I’ll use the nearest thing I have to a weapon. It’s not much. I take a breath as he makes a step closer.
I’m braced, but I try not to let it show. My only chance will be to surprise him.
I’ll have to time it perfectly.
I have to force myself not to turn my face away from the powerful smell of oil in his hair, and to keep the fear and alarm from showing on my face as he bends over me.
I wait as long as I can. He looms over me and starts to bend closer. I’m holding my breath. I push down with one foot, grip both of the arms of the seat. With a long shout, I swing up my other foot, heel high, as hard and as fast as I can.
My heel connects with his balls. His face boils into a satisfying glow with a tinge of green.
A rumble at the plane’s entrance door makes the cop twist. I drive the point of my heel harder into his balls.
He pitches forward, doubled over. Huge and heavy, he topples onto me. I’m trapped in the seat. The fatal weakness in my feeble plan.
I’ve hurt him, maybe damaged him. But I’ve enraged him. And I can’t get away.
A breeze of cool air drifts into the plane and around my ankle. Behind the bulk of the tumbling cop, there’s a rush. Heavy footsteps.
The cop’s face jerks backward. Glowing red. His back bends and his head snaps back. Anatoly hauls him off me and slams him, face first to the floor. Bangs his forehead onto the deck. Then he kicks him hard between the legs.
He drags the man to the exit. I hear the tumbling crunches of his body as it bounces down the metal steps.
Anatoly’s face is dark. His eyes are ablaze. In the cockpit, he grabs the other cop by the neck. The cop raises his hands and shakes his head. Says something in Russian.
Sounds like he’s pleading. Bargaining.
Anatoly grabs him and hurls him straight out after his partner. I hear shouts from the copilot as Anatoly strides back to me. He shouts back in Russian as he rushes to me. He scoops me up. Wraps me in his arms.
It’s only when he holds me that I realize how much I’m trembling.
He pulls me to him, so tight I’m afraid he’ll crush me. “I was sure you were safe, but I couldn’t stand being apart from you.” He takes me with his mouth. The kiss is fierce. Greedy. Ruthless.
We lock together, bound into one another. I’m melting into him. His strong hands turn me to liquid. Hot liquid fire. My body jumps to life like I’m charged up from inside with flashes like lightning.
The plane lurches as it begins to move.
His jaw sets as we pull apart. He tells me, “The thought that anything could happen to you was driving me insane. I couldn’t think straight until I had you safe again.”
I stroke his chin and his powerful jaw, pull his face closer. He comes closer to kiss me.
“I can’t have you be apart from me. Not ever again. Never,” and I’m carried away on the current of the kiss. I slip, drifting, lost in the flow. Crushed against the mass of his chest, the tenderness of his strength takes my breath away. His hand rakes through my hair. He strokes my face, my neck. He holds my throat and pulls back, peering deep into my eyes.
My breath scrapes in a whisper, “What are you doing to me?” My head shakes and my insides swell, proud and needy. I want him.
The deep vibration of his voice buzzes in his chest and I feel it echo through the whole of my body. “I need you, Emma.”
His hardness lengthens and thickens against my stomach. “I need you now and I need you forever. You have to be all mine.”
I so want to tell him, but it will have to wait. This is more urgent. “Yes, Anatoly. Take me.”
Outside, the engines whine and the aircraft shudders as it picks up speed. Accelerating. Faster.
“I need you to have my babies.”
A long, rasping sigh peels out of me. “How many?”
“Dozens, Emma. Hundreds.”
“I’ll be exhausted.”
“All day, every day. And all night, too.”
He grins like a predator. One that’s trapped its prey.
“Anatoly.”
He reaches up. Uncovers me. Opens me. With my ankles around his back, my stomach drops and falls. I feel like I’m leaving my body as the plane leaps up into the air.
He lays me back into the seat, and my breath thickens. His body, thick and hard between my quivering thighs, presses into me. Forces me deep into the seat. When he reaches up, along my thighs, high enough in my skirt to pull down my panties, I realize how wet they are as I feel the cool air around my buzzing pussy.
His hand takes my breast, first through the shirt, then urgently, impatiently, inside my bra, as he opens his pants with the other hand. Like he can’t even wait, his cock springs out and bangs hard and heavy against my mound. With a roll of his pelvis, he drops the head into my wet flower. I gasp and cry out. The perfect pain makes me moan as he pushes straight in, piercing me, stretching me wide and spearing me.
I let out his name on a long, hard sigh, “Anatoly, what are you doing to me?”
“I’m taking you. I’m taking my perfect princess. Making you my queen.”
“Oh, God,” I’m writhing, flexing and clawing, stretching my back and my neck. My pulse pounds and boils as he hammers me, deep and high.
“I need to make you to make babies. My babies. Now, Emma.”
My hips roll and my spine bends. I’m sucking him as far and as deep as I can get him. I want all of him inside me. My toes curl and my fingers claw in his hair.
“Come for me, Emma. Come with me,”
The heat of his breath and the burning look in his eyes flip me over the edge and I’m full of him, cascading in crackling, splashing jolts of shuddering spasms. His cock fattens and surges and thick, hot bolts of spunk blast inside me. His hot body thrums and vibrates as he grips me tight.
Epilogue
Him
I FEEL COMPLETE. HOLDING her in my arms, I have such a dazzling force of emotion, of clarity. I never felt so strong before. The need I have to protect her is an energy that I never knew I had.
She nuzzles into my chest and asks, “Is this your plane?”
“No. It’s a charter.” I kiss her hair. I’m in love with the smell of her. And the taste of her. All the tastes of her. “It was only booked to ferry me and Igor back to Moscow. Now the crew feel like they’d prefer to be out of Russia for a while so they’re happy to take us back to the States.”
Anatoly : Ruthless (Bad Russian Book 11) Page 8