by Warren, Rie
The sniveling little shit cringed and cowered some more. “I needed to pay off some gambling debts and, I mean, you know you have a price on your head, right?”
That didn’t come as a huge surprise. I had a habit of pissing people off when I murdered family members and whatnot.
An angel I was not.
“Anything to do with the Irish?”
“No. The hit came from the Yakuza.”
Interesting. Guessed they weren’t too thrilled about the gambling operation Yury had ordered me to shut down a few months back. The Japs should’ve known they were encroaching on our territory when they opened the place. That also meant Rodney must owe his debt to the Yakuza.
I remained suspicious though. “Those two I just dropped weren’t Yakuza. They weren’t their regular Vietnamese thugs either.”
The two dead dudes were one hundred percent Caucasian. They didn’t even have the right type of gang tats.
Rodney swallowed loudly, tucking his hands way up high under his armpits. “No. I mean, I sort of approached the Yakuza. About you. You know, just ’cause I needed the money to pay them off.”
“You’re really not fucking helping yourself here.”
This goddamn imbecile. I should’ve put him out of my misery a long damn time ago.
“The guys, they’re just friends of mine.”
“Were friends of yours. That explains how they couldn’t even ambush me properly.”
“But I can still help you,” he implored, holding out his hands.
“I highly doubt that.”
“But I’m useful to you, Kirill. I made a mistake. I know that now.”
“Really.” Even this fuck-up couldn’t miss my dry tone.
“Listen. Listen. I heard about the boy you snatched today.”
He obviously hadn’t heard too much since she wasn’t a he at all. I waved my blade around in a seemingly lazy snake-like pattern, touching the air right in front of Rodney’s neck, his heart, his gut.
A sinister smile crossed my mouth.
“Don’t hurt me,” he bleated. “I know the Irish kid is a girl! I know!”
Hmm.
“And what else do you know?”
Rubbing his hands together like he’d just hit the jackpot, he hopped from one foot to the other. “She’s called Jo, right?”
I said nothing.
“Right. Right. Right.” He nodded his head several times. “Look, her dad don’t like her being with anyone. I mean anyone at all. Apart from when he lets her drive those deliveries, he keeps her on lockdown.”
That could have something to do with her unexplained bruises, but I pretended I was still uninterested.
“So like a lot of mafia guys and made men have heard about her, but no one knows if she’s real. But you do, right? And ’cause there’s been all this mystery about her, a lot of higher ups from a lot of organizations are interested in that piece of tail. A couple even said they’d pay a high price for her.”
That got my attention.
And no one was getting their filthy fucking hands on Joanna but me. Even if all I did was throttle her.
Rage surged through my vitals at the idea that anyone thought they could just have her.
I kept my cool mask in place as Rodney continued, “She could be worth something if you wanted to make a special trade. I could set it all up for you.”
Joanna as a high-dollar commodity for someone else? No fucking way—at least not until we had it out with her family—and I was definitely keeping this intel to myself.
“What else do you know about the girl’s father?”
I’d met with the O’Sullivans on several occasions before, not just that shootout at the docks. We’d exchanged gunfire and handshakes, but I had no real info about the old man aside from he was fairly smart, sometimes too impulsive, and he was a wiry, hardened old school type of mobster.
“He’s a real mean motherfucker,” Rodney confided.
Nothing new. Most bosses were.
I had my cash.
I had my intel.
I had a rat to get rid of.
“I think you’ve outlived your usefulness now.” My teeth must’ve gleamed white in the dark surrounds when I grinned, because Rodney started shaking in his boots.
“What do you mean?” He blinked rapidly. “I can get more information. I won’t—”
“Stab me in the back again?” I flipped the hilt of my KA-BAR from hand to hand. “You have no allegiance.” That was the crux of all mafia problems. “Not to us. Not to the Irish. Not the cartels or the mafias.”
I knew where I stood firm. That was with the Bratva and Yury.
He opened his mouth to grovel again. Too late.
I spun him quickly, listening to him howl as I shoved him up against the side of the building. His feet kicked out harmlessly, and I bashed his forehead against the hard wall.
Holding him in place, I drove the tip of my KA-BAR into the base of his skull.
One fast hard jerk later, and I severed Rodney’s spinal cord.
He slumped uselessly when I withdrew the blade, his lifeless body sliding down the wall to land in a heap.
Leaning over, I carefully wiped the blood and matter off my blade, using the back of his jacket.
Ambling from the black confines of the warehouse, I climbed into my SUV.
I left those three dead bodies behind.
No one would miss them, and if they did then let that be a warning not to double-cross Kirill Krasnov.
* * *
At least I had one thing in order in addition to three new kills to add to my tally. I’d left Jo securely tied up in my bedroom so I could enjoy a drink or two before I washed the figurative blood off my hands.
The nightclub was truly jumping by the time I reentered, a line winding from the entrance and down the block. We provided security and a safe place to blow off steam for high-paying customers, as well as general anonymity unless of course some fucker from another Family dared show his face.
I stayed in the shadows for a few moments, performing a thorough recon. After the events at the warehouse, I wasn’t willing to trust anyone beyond Yury and my brothers.
As I studied the drinkers, the partiers, the dancers, I kept careful vigil on our bartenders, waiters and waitresses, and the soldiers.
Everyone had their role, and they knew to keep to their place, because anyone who stepped out of line faced dire consequences that often ended in death at my hands.
Grigor still kept mopping sweat from his brow, but he was new. He’d come vetted by an old, trusted acquaintance of Yury’s. I had full confidence in the youngster even if he had none in himself.
He’d done the right thing earlier, coming specifically to me with Jo’s cellphone.
The bartenders worked tirelessly, cleaning glasses, polishing the shiny black bar, performing crowd-pleasing mixologist tricks.
The rest of the soldiers blended seamlessly into the background but remained alert.
The pair stationed by the private hallway and the other two guarding the office entrance at the mezzanine wore deep unfriendly scowls—expressions mean enough to put off any interloper without having to draw their guns.
I wasn’t really into the club life, but The Cat and the Sickle provided an excellent source of secondary income, created a great cover for our arms deals, and allowed us to launder huge amounts of cash on a daily basis.
It also provided a top-notch venue for me to pick and choose which statuesque blonde I bedded for the night.
I liked to fuck. I liked money. I liked to kill.
And there was nothing better than fucking after a night of killing when the high-octane adrenaline coursing through my veins outranked any amount of pure meth the Yakuza hooked their customers on.
My foreboding stance only faltered when I glimpsed an unusual beauty at the bar. In fact, I took a half step forward before I stopped myself from getting any closer.
It was usually better to watch, wait, and study one
’s prey before launching a strike.
The sizzling redhaired woman was decidedly not my normal choice of fuckmate, but maybe I just had Joanna on the brain and needed to screw the wench out of my system.
The stunning woman wore a white shirtdress tightly belted at her tiny waist, and she’d left a generous number of buttons undone down her front. Enough to reveal smooth skin, the beginning inner mounds of her tits and, instead of bounteous cleavage, just a straight shot almost to her navel.
I was used to women in all manner of slinky, silky, sexy dresses, but nothing like this.
She’d rolled the cuffs up several times to reveal pretty hands and slender wrists and, when she rested her elbows back on the bar, one long thigh peeked out behind the parted tails of the shirt.
Not to mention the stilettoes were straight up cock-hardeners.
The club grew louder.
Music thumped faster.
Lights spun in dizzying patterns, splashing across the vixen who threw her head back with a laugh I couldn’t hear.
She was laughing . . . with Sasha.
Damn women.
Nothing but trouble.
Then I did a double-take, and my heart thumped as loud as the tunes.
Joanna stood laughing at the bar of my club with Sasha.
My gaze became steely, sweeping over the area until I located Arkady and Maksim lurking close to both women.
Pissed didn’t even begin to cover it when I stomped forward, doing my best not to shove people aside.
That fucking gorgeous redhead in the shirtdress is supposed to be tied up to my bed.
Correction, my dress shirt. She was wearing my motherfucking shirt she must’ve chosen from the closet. She’d actually goddamn used the belt I’d secured her with to cinch in the waist of the top, which at least was long enough to do double-time as a dress on her petite figure.
Her silver cross glinted in the hollow of her collarbone, and where had she snagged those fuck-me stilettoes from?
The heels had to come from Sasha.
I’d be having words with her too, but not before I interrogated Arkady.
Everything about this situation troubled me in light of what Rodney had confessed.
Wasn’t much concerned about the price on my head—wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last—but learning there were a multitude of men who were gagging to buy, own, possess Joanna tested the limits of my control and made me want to dominate her even more.
Stomping up to my brothers, I glanced at Maksim to order, “Go and do something useful like make sure no one snatches Joanna from right under our noses.”
My jaw hardening into harsh angles, I then glared at Arkady. “You just let her out of the apartment?”
“Correction. I watched her get out of the bondage on the security camera—”
“How?” I shot the words out like the bullets I’d fired off earlier.
“Let’s put it this way, your girl is very flexible.”
I growled, swearing under my breath.
“The belt looked pretty easy. She sort of wriggled around until she could get her teeth locked on the buckle. I mean . . .” A smirk tilted his mouth.
Arkady was amused by all this.
I was so furious even those three wasters I’d already executed tonight couldn’t subdue my blood rage.
“And you didn’t think to stop her?” I jabbed at his chest, and he stiffened up in front of me, a wall of muscle and not one to be fucked with, just like me.
“I thought you might be curious as to her skills. I watched her dress then—”
“You watched her get dressed?” My blood rage morphed into jealous rage.
Murderous rage.
Fists balling, I went nose to nose with my older brother.
That motherfucker gave me a slanted smile, leaned over—out of my range—and accepted a shot of vodka from one of the bartenders.
He sank it then slid another glass toward me. “She got dressed. Then picked the lock on the bedroom door with some hairpins she had hidden. She’s pretty savvy. I just thought you should know.”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head, and I really wanted to rip his head off.
Dragging in deep breaths, I counted backward. From one-fucking-hundred.
Got to eighty before I gnashed out, “That doesn’t explain how she got access to the elevator.”
“Sasha.”
Of course.
Trouble came in twos, and it was always females.
“Look, you told me to keep an eye on her. I did. I have. With Maksim and me standing right here, what do you think she’d do? What do you think could possibly happen to her? Unless . . .”
I stopped paying attention to Arkady because, when I glanced toward Jo again, unless happened right before my very eyes.
A complete fucking nobody sporting sideburns and skinny jeans sidled up to the woman.
And she tossed her hair back, inviting him to flirt with a smile parting her pretty lips.
A giant fuck no to that.
Arkady could’ve still been talking for all I cared. I was already on the warpath, stalking toward Jo.
When she finally sighted me, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes became saucer-wide.
Good.
I hoped she was quaking all the way down to her secondhand stilettoes.
She wisely dismissed the asshole who’d lingered way too close before I reached her.
I glanced back at Arkady with a jerk of my head.
The trendy trespasser could look forward to a long Russian kiss goodnight care of my brother.
“Enjoying yourself?” I drew up in front of Jo.
Fury settled deep in my bones, taking up cold residence next to uncomfortable twinges of something akin to jealousy.
Covering her unease quickly, she tossed me a saucy look. “Definitely. And how was your evening?”
Her witchy hazel eyes flashed.
“Interesting. But not as interesting as coming back to find you down here. And, by the way, malyshka, you can’t pull off the outfit.” I bent back slightly to scan her from heels to head and everything in between.
She stomped her foot, which made her unfettered tits wobble inside my shirt.
A new possessive beast roared inside of me.
One that wanted to rip that top off her and mount her then and there for all to see and witness.
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” she hissed.
She had no idea that seeing her dressed in this effortlessly sexy manner took me to dark and dirty places I wanted to explore with or without her consent.
The pressure of a heavy stare bored into my back.
I looked in the mirror behind the bar, easily picking up Yury with his sights on us.
“Quiet now.” My voice dipping, I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Yury’s watching.”
“Isn’t he always?” she snapped.
“No. Actually it was Arkady who saw your ingenious naked escape in full living color earlier.”
Her mouth popped open, and pink splashed across her cheeks.
I turned her toward the bar. “Have a drink with me.”
“What?”
“Shut up and drink,” I growled out, and one whiskey and one vodka were placed directly in front of me.
She took tiny sips of the whiskey, eyeing me. “I only came down because I could. You shouldn’t have left me alone like that.”
I angled her face to mine. “Trust me, it won’t happen again.”
My fingers taking a path they’d traced only once before, I ghosted from her cheek to the silky skin of her neck. Her pulse leaped against my touch, the gold specks in her irises sparkling again.
I felt her swallow haltingly, and my body remembered her incredibly hot reaction to me just hours ago.
Captor and the kidnapped or not.
Bound to my bed or not.
My eyes followed the trail my fingertips took, from the necklace dangling against her delicate collarbone to the dip
between her tits.
Electricity sparked between us—as vital as breath.
The club forgotten.
Yury forgotten.
Everything slid into the slipstream of nothingness where many of my memories resided.
Jo’s hand raised. She clasped my wrist to pull my whole palm beneath the edge of the shirt.
Her flesh was so hot she nearly branded me.
She gasped when my hand covered her breast, the tight nipple centered in my palm. She listed toward me, and our lips hovered on the cusp of touching.
I wasn’t such a tough guy now. Not when my gut clenched. Not when my arm reached all the way around her waist.
Not when I hauled her up against my hard form, and her thighs parted enough to let my thick erection drag between her legs.
Our lips almost brushed together . . .
“Incoming!” one of the soldiers bellowed.
I glanced away from Jo just in time to see Bratva guards running to the entrance before gunfire ripped through the club from the street outside.
Boosting Jo over the bar, I shoved her head down. “Stay put!”
Her pale face peered up at me before Maksim hustled Sasha right next to her with his weapon drawn to stand over the women.
A snarl pulled his upper lip back from his teeth, and he held Sasha down with one hand on her shoulder.
Total chaos confronted me when I spun.
People rushed in all directions, screaming their heads off. Soldiers at arms filed outside, fighting against the tide of people trying to get in and off the street.
More bullets shattered through the windows, blew up the shiny bottles behind the bar, splintered mirrors into shards.
“Get down!” I roared. “Everyone, get down and stay the hell down!”
Shouts erupted from all corners, but at least I knew Joanna was safe with Maksim watching over her.
Arkady was right beside me as we drew our weapons and zigzagged through the streams of terrified people.
When we burst outside to the sidewalk, the Zolotov soldiers had formed a protective barrier. They shot at the retreating vehicles—a hodgepodge of trucks with tires squealing, gun muzzles glowing white-hot with more bullets flying out.
I took off at a sprint, aiming at the rapidly moving targets.