by Warren, Rie
“You got it, boss.” He turned on his heel to carry out my orders.
“Boss?” The girl yanked again to get her hands loose, but she was going nowhere. “I know you’re not The Boss. You’re not Yury.”
I leaned so close I felt her breath on my lips, and her exhalations staggered for an instant. “You’re right. I’m Kirill. I am the enforcer. So this is much, much worse than you think.”
I spun her to the wall face first and held the side of her head in place.
Kicking out her feet, I dropped my voice near her ear. “Don’t move, malyshka.”
A shudder worked down her spine as I patted her for weapons. Perhaps she had some survival instincts after all.
I moved from her shoulders, in around her ribs, and up to what appeared to be tightly restrained breasts.
“I’m not hiding anything there but tits,” she hissed.
“And not much of those either.”
I bit back a laugh when she snarled.
The only weapon I discovered was a switchblade hidden in her boot, which I pocketed before tugging her into the club.
“What the fuck is that?” Arkady jumped up from a stool.
“This is the little squirt.” I kept Joanna at my side, across the floor from my brothers and Yury.
And Sasha who appeared from the ladies room.
“That’s the boy?” Yury scanned Jo from top to bottom, shrewd eyes taking everything in.
“Da,” I answered in the affirmative. “Turns out the Irish have been tricking us in more ways than one, since the youngest boy is actually a girl.”
“How can you tell?” Maksim quirked an eyebrow, effortlessly insulting the easy-to-rile woman.
“She fights like one.” I glanced at my petite prisoner.
She growled and, quick as a whip, she snaked my KA-BAR from its sheath.
Ten guns immediately clocked on her, and she froze.
I brought my fist down on her wrist.
The knife flipped from her stunned grasp, and I dropped her to her knees with her arm cranked behind her back. “Jo. Or should I say Joanna?”
“The O’Sullivan’s daughter?” Yury tapped two pudgy fingers on a table, his Gulag ink unmistakable.
“I thought that was a myth.” Arkady stalked menacingly around her.
“The one and only O’Sullivan princess, if I’m not mistaken.”
At my words, Joanna glared up at me through disheveled hair. “I’m not a myth. And I’m no princess!”
2
Jo
“IT LOOKS LIKE WE’VE got our payment right here, if she really is the O’Sullivan girl,” the Krasnov brother who’d so coldly appraised me said.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Rage vibrated through me as they discussed me like I was a piece of meat to be used or traded.
The man who’d tussled with me out on the loading bay gripped a handful of my hair and yanked my neck into a painful angle.
Looming over me, he stared down with dark intensity blazing from nearly black irises. “You’d do well to keep that mouth of yours shut right now.”
Wrenching the arm behind my back even harder, he kept me forced down on my knees like I was the animal.
Kirill Krasnov. Kirill the killer. Now I knew exactly who he was. The enforcer, he’d said.
The two other brothers studied me with the keen interest of predators. The Zolotov pakhan—Yury—sat at a table, a big, much older man with a chest like a barrel and fingers like sausages covered in tats.
They all had reputations, but then, so did my brothers.
I’d managed to live mostly in the shadows. Now this entire Bratva, a handful of their well-armed soldiers, and one lone female stared at me.
“She will prove useful as collateral until we get this mess sorted out with the Micks.” Kirill spoke in a deep silky voice with just a hint of his foreign accent.
“Wait, wait, wait. She’s the delivery driver?” The young woman who was closely shadowed by the tallest man of all pointed at me. “Even she gets to go out without a bodyguard?”
Maybe she could be an ally.
“Hush, Sashenka.” Yury scolded without even a glance in her direction.
Clamping her lips tight, she skewered the man—her father?—with a withering glare.
She didn’t seem like the typical mafia heiress, but that didn’t mean she’d have enough guts to go against the Bratva to help me—a total stranger and, as far as she knew, an enemy to the family.
While they continued to discuss the usefulness of my abduction, I scanned the interior of The Cat and the Sickle. I was pretty wily, I could usually find my way out of a bad situation.
I’d never been inside the club before though, and each exit point was heavily guarded. I even noted cleverly concealed cameras, and figured the place was armed with a state-of-the-art security system.
Chances of escape might be better later on tonight when the place opened. The Cat and the Sickle had a reputation just like the owners, and I could reluctantly see why the nightspot was so popular. All shiny chrome and glinting mirrors and classy black leather, the club probably brought in huge amounts of legit cash money.
That kind of bank combined with their arms deals set the Zolotov Bratva above and beyond.
I wondered if their ordinary customers had any idea what kind of murderous monsters the proprietors were.
And, though I’d only ever interacted with Kirill before, the other two Krasnovs were unmistakable. The three of them had similar angular bone structures, coldly handsome faces, and tall well-muscled frames.
I hated each and every one of them immediately.
I especially despised the prick keeping such a tight hold on my hair that the strain on my neck was really beginning to hurt.
If only I’d been able to stab him with my switchblade.
If only I hadn’t let him get the jump on me in the first place.
Pig.
My delivery rounds in that big old box truck with the music blasting was the only time I had any sort of respite whatsoever.
Getting out of the compound to do my daily rounds my single taste of freedom.
I wished we’d taken out the Krasnov brothers and the whole damn Zolotov Bratva when we’d had the chance.
That cursed night a year ago down at the harbor when they’d made it clear no one would get away with hijacking their guns trade. The Russkies had ambushed us while we’d tried to seize and sell their delivery.
They’d opened fire, and I’d barely dove for cover behind one of the huge containers when the wood crate I’d been checking exploded into smithereens. Then the fresh supply of ammo began lighting off, popping like fireworks and deadly detonations in the black of the night.
My oldest brother hunkered beside me for a second to make sure I was all right before he ducked back out into the vicious fray.
I’d gotten off a few rounds of my own, and I knew I clipped one of those big Slavic bastards when I heard the sickening impact of a bullet through flesh and a loud deep grunt.
Within the space of a few minutes, the Russians obliterated our cache of ammo, scared off our potential arms dealer, and threatened to lay waste to the entire clan.
We’d had no choice but to back down—a serious blow to the O’Sullivan pride.
An even bigger blow was the agreement reached.
Every week since then I’d driven into the lion’s den of my own volition.
And the idiots had believed my ruse, that I was a boy.
I was fearless.
There was only one thing that scared me. And it wasn’t the Russians.
It was at home, every night.
But, no matter the undesirable circumstances of my homelife, anything was preferable to being kidnapped and held captive by this thug.
The thug who finally let my hair go only to yank me up by my shoulders. He released my arm, but clamped a hard hand around my wrists, keeping me plastered against his side.
Yury wa
tched all through dispassionate eyes. “You sure you really want to start a new turf war over watered down booze?”
“Since when have you ever let anyone pull one over on the Bratva?” Kirill asked, and I sensed a challenge in his voice.
I might’ve had a big mouth but, from all I’d heard about and witnessed of Yury Zolotov, I didn’t think I’d have the balls to cross him.
Kirill appeared unfazed as his boss rose from his chair.
The pakhan finally nodded. “Da. Fine. Keep her temporarily until we get reimbursed for the liquor. I don’t want any trouble from her, so you better keep her in line.”
I bit down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
Yury strolled from the central room, and the girl with her bodyguard departed as well. The soldiers finally went on about their business, which I surmised was to look incredibly menacing and murderous.
“Don’t you have work to see to, Arkady?” Kirill asked the last man, the brother who’d most closely scrutinized me.
“I could ask you the same. Or do you plan on entertaining yourself with her?”
Kirill stiffened, suddenly appearing even larger as he stepped in front of me. “You might be the underboss, brother, but you heard Yury. She’s mine to do with as I wish.”
She’s mine to do with as I wish.
I quelled a shudder over his cold, hard words.
I would never let him see me cower.
Before any more words could be exchanged, Kirill was on the move with me in tow.
I dug in my heels, trying to stop him from dragging me along. “What are you going to do with me?”
He spun on me quickly, hauling me right against his body. “Shut up.” His tone became even harsher. “Unless you want to be returned to your family littered with bruises or worse, you will not question me.” He raised his hand before slowly unclenching his fist.
With a muttered oath, he heaved me in front of him and practically frog-marched me through a doorway. In a corridor illuminated by strip lighting along the floor and ceiling, he pushed me forward.
He only stopped at the far end where he swiped his index finger over a sensor.
The door to a concealed elevator immediately slid open.
Sophisticated.
I was so screwed.
When I was in an impossible situation, I almost always got lippy. “Are you taking me to your Batcave or something?”
I tried to wrench free of his unforgiving grip again, but his hand was like an iron manacle.
In response he said nothing.
We began ascending in the metal box, Kirill’s large body filling the entire space. Even his scent surrounded me, but the dark musky male aroma was no comfort.
Worry I tried to keep hidden only intensified within the tight confined area.
Would my da even send orders to get me back?
Maybe he’d just write me off. And if he didn’t care enough to make any retribution, would my brothers disobey him to help me?
Or would I be left to the Bratva?
The elevator stopped, and the door opened.
“Where are you taking me now?” I balked once again.
An intense flash of anger broke through Kirill’s cool mask, and a muscle at the back of his jaw bulged.
He bent toward me, his face overshadowing mine. “I already told you to hold your tongue once, malyshka. Do not test me again.”
He snatched me forward, pulling me from the elevator.
I barely had a chance to catch my bearings inside a spacious living room then he propelled me down another hallway. He opened a door, motioned me inside, and shut us together in a bedroom.
Finally, he released me, and I had half a mind to throw myself at him so I could claw his eyes out.
But he surmised my plan, because a half smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Maddening man.
I glanced around the impeccably decorated and fastidiously clean room, so different from the grubby dark compound where I lived.
“You will stay here until I decide how best to use you,” he ordered.
Staring at him in disbelief, I was overwhelmed by the full magnitude of my situation.
A dangerous man, a killer, my captor.
“Here?” My voice quivered a little.
“Da.”
“Isn’t this your bedroom?”
“Yes.”
I glanced from the huge bed back to him.
He watched impassively, his big body blocking the door.
Without doubt, Kirill Krasnov was stern and foreboding. There was no mistaking his dominating aura or his obvious power. Dark eyes slit, he leaned back in a relaxed stance, but I wasn’t fooled. He still carried his gun, his knife, my switchblade.
The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed strong forearms, his broad shoulders filled the seams of his shirt to the max, and his trousers hugged his long legs and lean hips perfectly.
He easily outweighed me.
Could overpower me.
Yet he made no move toward me.
“Where’s the basement?” I asked. “I thought you’d lock me up someplace like that.”
His lips twitched.
I thought I saw slight silver specks in his obsidian irises, a hint at amusement.
He said nothing.
“The dungeon?” I persisted, frowning as his smile widened to show brilliant white teeth offset by the black stubble on his cheeks and chin.
“No dungeon for you, Joanna. You will stay here in my bedroom, as I said.”
“Why?”
His smile fled. “I don’t trust Arkady and Maksim.”
“Aren’t they your brothers?”
“Da.”
Way to instill me with a sense of security.
3
Kirill
TYPICAL OF A WOMAN who needed to be taught her station in life, this Joanna talked too damn much and asked too many questions.
Perhaps I would spend my time with her teaching her what her place was. Breaking her could be fun—breaking her in could be interesting.
She might even be a worthy adversary.
She could be a great fuck if she kept her mouth shut unless she was going to put it to good use sucking my cock.
I could tell Yury had been dead set against me keeping her initially, and I’d overstepped with my insistence. If I didn’t keep her in line, this could all blow up in my face, but I’d felt something—some long dead twinge—when she’d put up such a fight and refused to stay quiet.
She’d made me feel alive—usually the only thing capable of giving me a thrill was a good old-fashioned killing.
I liked going head to head with her.
I liked sparring with her.
And I really liked the way she’d felt against my body.
Almost as much as I’d enjoyed forcing her to her knees.
I wanted her in that same position for a decidedly different, dirtier purpose.
Yes, I wanted to keep her for reasons I couldn’t exactly put my finger on, and it wasn’t entirely about the Irish thinking they could dupe us like we were ignorant Russian peasants.
Jo warily watched me from across my bedroom, but she also clocked the windows, the three doors, and the security cameras set in certain corners of the ceiling.
Clever girl must’ve noticed the tiny light flashing red. I’d remotely turned off all the cams inside the apartment from the fob in my pocket.
I didn’t need our interaction live-streamed to the security room for Yury or Arkady’s viewing pleasure.
“How old are you?” I stepped closer to Jo.
“Why? You suddenly have a rule against abducting children?” she snapped.
“I’d say you are too hard to be a kid.”
“Clearly you don’t know anything about my family.”
Alarm bells set up a jarring in my head.
She thinned her lips and went back to rubbing her wrists I’d gripped earlier.
�
��I’m twenty-four,” she finally said, oh-so-quietly.
Ah, six years younger than me. Yet at times she seemed older and, at others, much, much younger.
“How is that possible?”
Hands on her hips, she thrust out her chin. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not woman enough for you? Good.”
Blyad. I should’ve handed the shrew over to Arkady when I had the chance.
“I’m not sure anyone would mistake you for a woman the way you’re dressed.”
Jo opened her mouth, without doubt to blast off at me again, but I marched up to her. Hand clasped at the nape of her neck instead of clamped over her lips, I silenced her with just one look.
“I only meant the entire myth thing. How is it that no one really knew you existed?”
She shrugged. “We’re just very private people.”
She had her walls up.
Something I could relate to.
I decided to take a different approach, even though I didn’t understand why I felt the need to get to know her at all.
Taking her by the hand more gently, I ushered her along to the en suite bathroom.
“What? Waterboarding now?”
“If you’re going to share my bed—”
“Share?” she screeched.
I continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “You’re going to have to clean up first.”
This ragamuffin. Hell, the girl probably needed a thorough delousing.
Her clothes definitely needed burning.
Pink splashed across her cheeks, and breaths huffed and puffed in and out of her chest. “Now?”
I nodded, shutting us both within the roomy tiled bathroom.
Her big hazel eyes almost bugged out of her head. “Seriously?”
“Indeed.”
She backed away from me, and I advanced.
“Unless you want me to be the one doing the scrubbing, I suggest you undress now, Jo.”
“You’re a monster.”
“Plenty of hot water. You waste much more time shrieking at me, and I’ll make sure you have an ice-cold shower, princess.”
“And I thought I hated you before,” she grumbled, giving me one last glare.