by Warren, Rie
All of her tactics provided a timely reminder that women were masters at manipulation.
After I’d scratched for the second time simply because Joanna strolled behind me to glide several fingertips along my lower back, Sasha lost it.
“All right. There’s no sense in flirting if you’re not going to fuck.” Throwing her cue down, she glowered at Jo and me. “I’m done with this.”
Maksim’s lips quirked for a moment—almost as if his unwanted ward amused him—then he stalked after her.
That left Jo and me alone with lust spinning more than the pool balls across the felt table.
Jo tapped a finger against her lips, inspecting the balls for her next strike.
Then she flickered her eyelashes at me. “I’m not sure I can reach my shot, Kirill. Can you help me?”
The woman lowered her upper half across the table and waited with her ass once again pressed out.
I half expected a kick to the gonads when I folded my body on top of hers.
She rocked up instead, her soft hair curling against my nose and my not-uninterested groin nestled at her bottom.
My longer arm stretched along hers, and I held her steady with one hand braced around her unbruised side.
“If I win this time too what do I get?” she asked.
My blood sang, and my cock thudded in my jeans. “Probably another bout of punishment.”
“I was hoping for something else.”
Her smoldering tone began to shred through my already disintegrating control.
“I just bet you were.”
Pressing harder into her so there was no mistaking my arousal, I helped her hit the ball.
The solid careened into a hole, and I ran my fingers down to her hips before raising my chest off her back.
I held her there for a moment, my erection right at home between the cheeks of her ass.
“You get one more shot, princess.” I swatted her backside then let her up. “Better make it worth it because next time you miss, I’m wiping the table.”
Jo’s nipples made tight peaks within the tank top as she faced me.
Her cheeks flushed.
Her eyes sparkled.
She acted like she owned the table until the very moment she missed. Then her face dropped, and I gloated.
I gloated all the way to a win.
I cleaned the table, tackling bad angles, cracking balls, her assistance not necessary while I dominated.
“You tricked me into thinking you sucked!” She forced her cue back into the silver rack on the wall.
“I didn’t trick you into anything.” Was going to trick her into my bed next, though. “Your ego got in the way of your follow-through.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “I bet you’d know a thing or two about that.”
Smacking her bottom with my stick, I chuckled some more when she yelped. Hmm, the pool cue could come in handy, doubling as a crop. I began imagining new ways to stripe her ass red.
“Lunch is served!” Svetlana hollered out from the kitchen.
There was a veritable stampede toward the tasty smelling food. The construction crew who’d been working since sunup got first dibs, and I sat Jo down at a private booth while I waited for the crowd to clear.
Boris obediently lowered by her side, remaining there as I collected lunch for Jo and me.
I returned with plates laden with shashlik skewers, Baba’s famous beet, carrot, and pickle salad, and cheesy syrniki.
“Personal service two meals in a row? A girl could get spoiled.”
“Do not get used to it.” I slid into the booth across from her and began eating.
Before taking a bite of the shashlik, she hesitated. “What’s this?”
“Marinated lamb and onions. Try it.” I groaned as the savory meat filled my mouth.
Jo took a small nibble then gobbled up the rest of her skewer. “Oh my god. That’s delicious.”
“Make sure to tell Svetlana, you could earn some more points with her.”
“Do I need to be in her good graces.”
I sent Jo a dark smile. “You need to make sure to stay in mine, because I was just thinking about all the ways I could put a pool cue to creative use on you.”
Pink color splashed across her cheeks, and she evaded my gaze.
While she bent to concentrate on her food, I realized about the only time Joanna stayed quiet was when she was eating or sleeping.
She was a little on the skinny side, and I wondered if she’d ever been fed properly or just got scraps or leftovers.
“Did Svetlana teach you to cook?” She interrupted my train of thought.
“You mean eggs and toast? Or blinis and caviar?”
She made a gagging noise.
“So, I don’t get it though. She’s not your babushka, and Yury’s not your father. There’s no bloodline?”
Boris moved his head back and forth between us, eating up every little morsel we took turns feeding him.
“No one taught me to cook.” My lips screwed tight before I expelled a long breath. “I didn’t grow up in that type of household.”
I imagined she hadn’t either.
“Arkady’s, Maksim’s, and my parents went out to score a fix one day and never came back. I was seven, Arkady ten, Maksim only five.”
Jo’s chewing slowed. “Did you grow up here? I mean in America?”
“That was in Russia.” What the fuck did it matter anymore . . . ancient history.
A boring old story of junkie parents more focused on getting their next score than what could be considered more essential things like feeding, clothing, or even taking care of their children.
“We waited two days before Arkady decided we better do something.” I looked down at Boris and scratched him in that one specific spot behind the ears.
I remembered how we’d come across him, scrounging around the dumpster that contained the club’s waste, his bony ribs sticking out like a ship’s infrastructure.
“So”—I shrugged—“we took to the streets.”
“Didn’t they have children’s services or something over there?”
“We weren’t exactly on anyone’s welfare radar.” I polished off the rest of my salad and slowly wiped my mouth. “We had to beg for food at first then figured out it was more lucrative to just hustle people to get what we wanted or needed. We were smart, and fast, and cagey.”
Begging for bread hadn’t come naturally to us, and most people weren’t charitable to a pack of three young boys who hadn’t seen a bath in days.
We started our lawless lives as thieves and pickpockets, lifting watches and wallets and grifting strangers out of their hard-earned cash.
Sitting back in the booth, I looked at Jo.
She leaned forward, a soul-deep sadness etched across the delicate features of her face.
I didn’t want her pity.
I needed to remind her who I was, what I’d become.
“Eventually we came across Yury Zolotov. We tried to run one of our usual cons on him too. By then we were teenagers, delinquents, and highly successful street criminals.”
And we’d been cocky bastards. If it hadn’t been for Yury taking a chance on us instead of punishing us for our trespass, we’d have been buried in shallow graves long ago.
“He decided not to kill us.”
Jo sucked her cheeks in.
“He thought we showed promise, that he could use us in the Bratva. He didn’t have sons, just Sasha, so he groomed us.” I squinted hard at Jo. “We owe our papa. We’re indebted to him. He’s the one who brought us to the land of opportunity, or so the saying goes.”
“I don’t feel indebted that way to my family.” She looked down at her hands pressed together on the table, her brow creased and lips downturned. “I mean, I do with Lucky, Kelly, and Dex but . . .”
“Dex and Kelly are your other brothers, da?”
She nodded.
“But no loyalty to your father?”
She re
mained silent.
Until her face lifted and she said, “You speak really good English.”
“Part of the grooming thing. Tutors. Business.” Killing. “And you speak very bad Russian.”
Her feeble laughter floated away as her face fell.
“You still haven’t answered my questions. About your father.”
She slumped suddenly. “I think he had her killed.”
My attention focused even more. “Who?”
“My mom.”
“We know nothing of your mother.”
“Not many do. Like me, I suppose.” Tears glinted in her irises, making the gold-green depths even more luminous. Her first real show of weakness. “Things got hard after she died. Or harder, I guess. I was told she ran away, but I don’t believe that. There were plenty of nights that ended after screaming bouts by Da hitting her until he knocked her unconscious.”
She gave a sad little shrug. “He wanted to keep me locked up tight too.”
All she had to do was gingerly touch her side, and I knew.
For all her bravado, she’d been surviving abuse.
“Did he make you go around masquerading as a boy so no one knew you really existed?”
Her stubborn chin shot up. “Who’s to say I don’t like my jeans and my boots and my switchblade?”
Reaching across the table, I turned her hand over so her palm fit into mine. “You should never have to hide your true self, Joanna.”
She yanked her hand back. “Says the man who keeps threatening to shut my sassy mouth up in various ways. Not to mention the gag.”
My jaw clenched, and I withdrew from her.
Blyad.
I shouldn’t have gone down this road.
Emotions were sticky and tricky and a weakness.
I couldn’t afford to fall prey to her sob story.
“Who’s the prick that decided you could get away with fucking us around on the booze if it wasn’t Lucky or one of your other brothers.” My voice emerged cold.
Jo met me with a bland stare. “Guess.”
Her shitty dad who had no problem breaking deals and trying to break his daughter.
Maybe she wasn’t worth the hassle or my time.
Maybe starting a new Zolotov Bratva, O’Sullivan mafia vendetta caused too much blowback, because—fuck knew—Jo caused enough strife on her own.
Maybe I should just go to the meeting tonight and demand payment for her. Give her back so her family could sell her off, if the rumors were to be believed.
I’d return her. Wash my hands of her.
I sat, scanning her defensive posture and considering her potential, when Boris leaped up onto all four legs.
Hackles rising all the way down his back, he peeled his lips off his teeth.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Jo—who’d never witnessed this reaction from the dog—tried to gentle him with a soothing tone.
“Visitor, Kirill,” Maksim called out near the front entrance.
Of course.
Perfect timing.
Not.
I stood up just as the leggy blonde from either two nights ago or last week or maybe last month sauntered into the club.
Those women all blended together—meaningless trysts and nothing more.
“What is that?” Jo asked, her hand now wrapped around Boris’s collar to keep him table-bound.
“Someone who does not concern you.” I glanced down at her. “Stay.”
“Me or Boris?”
I knew my sinister smile did not reach my eyes when I ordered, “Both.”
Holding my anger in check, I approached the woman. “What do you want.”
She draped a hand on my chest, perfectly manicured nails curling in. “Kirill, I was hoping we could go up to your apartment and”—she breathed closer to my ear—“have a repeat of the other night.”
“I don’t think so.” I firmly removed her wandering hand from my body and clamped it down by her side.
“Why not though?” The handsy woman bit a pouty lip, big doe eyes blinking.
Big doe eyes with very little going on behind them.
The lady probably just thought I was a good fuck with a big bank.
Boris’s bark reverberated around The Sickle, louder than the tools of the workmen.
Glancing back at him and Joanna, I knew no woman had ever captured my attention as much as her.
The dichotomy between Jo and my one-night won’t-go-away stand was startling and disturbing.
The blonde whose name I didn’t even remember had perfectly straight hair and perfectly done makeup. Her cloying perfume was suddenly stifling unlike Jo’s fresh scent and unadorned features. Her clothes hugged her body, a bid at any man’s attention.
I bet Joanna had never tried to snag a man’s attention in her life.
Unruly red-gold hair.
Wearing my basketball shorts and zero makeup, she was refreshingly . . . exotic.
I stood transfixed by her.
Snapping back to attention the second Jo lifted disenchanted eyes to mine, I hustled the woman from the building. “Do not come back. You’re not welcome in my club or my bed.”
“But I—”
“Nyet. Go.” Jaw set in determination, I prowled back inside.
Boris finally settled the hell down.
He’d clearly chosen my mate.
I wasn’t sure at all.
“First smart decision you ever made.” Arkady popped his head out from the kitchen. “Does you showing the blonde gold digger to the door have anything to do with a certain Irish girl?”
“No.”
Yes, goddammit.
Speaking of, her phone buzzed in my pocket.
Turning my back on Arkady, I pulled out the iPhone. It was a damn good thing I’d set her Auto-Lock feature to Never, a fact Jo definitely wouldn’t be happy about.
But then again, she might never get a chance to find out.
The text from Lucky set the meet time at eleven p.m. and included a map that guided me back to the docks where we’d once raised guns at one another.
I guessed that constituted a neutral zone when you were Irish.
Spinning to Arkady, I showed him the message. “Let Maksim know.”
As I marched toward Jo—who had observed everything—I was waylaid again.
Yury stood at the top of the stairs that led to the offices, and he beckoned me up.
I took the steps quickly, shutting the two of us inside the sealed-tight rooms.
Easing onto a recliner, he motioned me to sit. “I have been paying close attention to you, Kirill. You’ve grown into one of my best in the Bratva. I don’t need to remind you what’s at stake with this girl and how we proceed.”
Although he was almost two full decades older than when we’d first tried to swindle him, I’d never downplay the pakhan’s command of us or of the organization.
There was love and loyalty from Yury if we did as he ordered . . . mostly.
Because of our careless upbringing, he gave us Krasnovs certain latitude.
Yet there was no mistaking we could be disposed of or replaced. The threat had never been mentioned out loud before.
I didn’t want it to happen now.
Fuck the Irish and them going behind their da’s back. Yury was king here.
“The oldest O’Sullivan brother reached out for a meeting tonight.”
Nodding, Yury sent his jowls into motion. “Da. Did not take them long to come to their senses.”
“I should’ve told you earlier.” Even though he made it clear I could sit, I remained standing.
“You spoke to Maksim and Arkady first.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“No need to keep kissing the figurative ring, Kirill.”
“You’ve always been generous with us. We wanted to take care of this on our own.”
“What if it’s a trap?” His guttural voice came from deep in his chest.
“I just singlehandedly dealt with the set-up the Yakuza laid
for me last night. This time all three of us are going.”
He nodded magnanimously. “What about the girl? Her fate?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I had decided. They weren’t getting her back.
“You two looked—how do they say—cozy today.”
“If by cozy you mean I took her down to the basement—”
“Did she find our weapons?”
“No. She found out I’m not a man to be played.” I kept my eyes on his, and he blinked once, slowly.
“She is fiery, as my mama says.” Drawing his gaze away, he snipped the tip off a cigar. “She could learn from a strong man with a strong hand. She could be . . . worthy.”
And I was dismissed.
With some sort of odd blessing about the Irish misfit.
Now I needed to prove I had Jo’s subservience. No questions asked.
Down on the main floor, I became single-minded.
Without saying a single word, I collected her from the booth.
I towed her through the club, muttering between clenched teeth, “Don’t talk. And don’t question me.”
“What? Did that blonde turn you on and now you need relief?” She scoffed under her breath.
Dragging her down the hall, I halted at the elevator.
I barged against her, crowding her until there was no escape and I felt no struggle from her.
“You are nothing like her, and she has nothing on you.” Boiling pressure multiplied—want, desire, wrath, dominance. “I want you. I want your mouth. I want your body. I want you, Jo, not some plastic fake of the real thing.”
All the simmering lust of the morning and the possibility of upcoming danger exploded.
The elevator opened.
I thrust her inside and prowled after her.
As soon as the doors slid closed, I grabbed her to me. “If I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
Gripping the nape of her neck, I slanted her head.
I brought my mouth down on hers, instantly slicing my tongue inside.
Heaving up against me, Jo wrapped her hands around my shoulders. Her lips molded softly to mine, her tongue a willing plaything tangling around mine.
I hoisted her astride me and pushed her against the elevator’s wall.
With her head drawn back in a gasp, I bit at the crux of her neck. “Fucking knew you’d be like this.”
She gasped. “Like what?”