Big Bad Rancher: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Tia Siren

  Amy laughed. “You’re still so full of shit,” she said.

  “But that's why you love me.”

  “Maybe. But I don't love it in our son. I want him to be normal. I want whichever woman decides she wants to be with him to have a nice life—not have to worry about what he'll do next.”

  Christian rolled off her and played with his penis for a couple of minutes. “See, I'm not as full of shit as you think,” he said when he began to get hard again.

  *****

  THE END

  MAFIA Romance – Her Protection

  “Welcome back, Son,” Limonov said. He threw his arms around his son and hugged him. Milan Igorevich had just returned from college after graduating with a degree in economics.

  “Hi, Pa,” Milan said. He stepped back and looked at the Palm Breeze Casino. His father had made some alterations since Milan had last seen it. “Making money, I see,” he said.

  “Making a fortune, son, and it's all gonna be yours one day. Come on, the guys are waiting for you,” Limonov said.

  Milan followed him up the steps and through the glass and chrome revolving door.

  “Welcome back, sir,” the doorman said when they arrived in the foyer. Milan noticed the whole interior had received a makeover. The carpet was maroon, and his shoes seemed to disappear in the deep pile of it. In the middle of the foyer, the logo of his father's business had been woven in yellow into the maroon material. Everywhere he looked, Milan saw gold chrome and members of staff in yellow and maroon uniforms.

  “Jeez, Dad, you've gutted the place,” Milan said.

  “It needed it, Son. As you know, this is the fourth casino in our portfolio, and we needed to have it looking as luxurious as the others.”

  “Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that,” Milan replied as they walked through a large hall full of slot machines. A group of well-dressed young women who were obviously in the casino on a hen night turned their heads and followed Milan as he moved past them. One of them let out a wolf whistle, which made him smile. He was used to it. Why some women were offended by being whistled at on the street, he had no idea; he loved it. It happened so often to him. He didn't know which sex was the worst perpetrator, men or women.

  They walked through another room, which housed the serious gambling tables for roulette and blackjack, and walked down a small corridor to the offices.

  “Welcome home,” they all shouted when Milan and his father entered the office.

  “Hi, guys. Nice reception,” Milan said. He looked at them, his father's warriors: Vladimir, Dima, Valentin, and Toni. They'd worked for his dad for more years than he could remember. Each of them had his own task in Limonov's business. Vladimir was in charge of narcotics, Dima protection, Valentin money laundering, and Toni, who was Italian, saw to it that the Russians and Italians didn't come to blows by trespassing on each other's territories. Each of them was dressed in a sharp suit with a pressed shirt and blue tie. Limonov didn’t tolerate scruffy employees. The only person who was missing was Dmitri, who'd been shot two months earlier. He’d been in charge of the casinos, and one evening when he was ejecting a rowdy gambler the man had pulled a gun on him and shot him dead. While Limonov bemoaned the loss of any of his men, Dmitri's death had solved a problem for him. It had created an instant opening for his son, who was just about to graduate.

  “Congratulations on your triumphs,” Vladimir said. “An economics degree and a US college boxing champion. Not bad for a snotty kid from St. Petersburg,” he joked.

  “Hey, watch it,” Milan said. “You're not too big to put over my knee.”

  “Toni, get Jessie to bring us some champagne,” Limonov said. “Sit down, Son, in the chair behind the desk. This is your office now. You're the boss here.”

  Milan sat down in the leather office chair and looked at the men around him. Now, at last, he felt like part of the team. As a young boy he'd watched these men meeting at the house he lived in with his mom and dad, and they'd become his heroes. They were guys he wanted to emulate, because they commanded respect wherever they went. They were tough and took no prisoners in their approach to business.

  When someone knocked at the door, Vladimir opened it. Milan's jaw dropped when he saw her. She was tall and dark, her hair so shiny it reflected the light above her. Her eyes were oval and more sensual than any female eyes he'd ever looked into. He took in her body, her large breasts and the curve of her hips as they pushed against her skirt. Farther down he noticed how smooth and bronzed her legs were.

  “Champagne, sir,” she said to Limonov.

  “Yes. Put it on the desk in front of my son,” he replied.

  She walked to the desk and set the tray on it. As she bent forward, Milan smiled at the sight of the tops of her breasts through the gap in her blouse. “Congratulations on your graduation and your boxing title,” she said as she began to open the bottle.

  “Thank you. I'm Milan,” he said.

  “Jessie,” she replied. “Shit,” she exclaimed as she cut herself on the wire around the bottle top. It was the first time that had ever happened. She'd opened thousands of bottles and not once had she ever had an accident. She knew why it had happened, though. She'd been concentrating on Milan and not on what she was doing. How could she concentrate when six-foot-four of solid muscle was looking at her breasts? she thought.

  “Here, let me help,” Milan said. He stood up and took her hand in his. He felt inside his jacket and found a clean handkerchief, which he wrapped around the cut finger. “There. That should keep it clean for a while.”

  She looked into his eyes. They were Mediterranean blue. The scent that drifted from him made her want him in her bed. She felt the warmth rising from her neck to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.

  When she was gone, Milan was unable to concentrate on the conversation. “Milan's miles away,” Dima said. “I think Jessie's charmed him.”

  “She charms us all,” Limonov said. “So beautiful,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Who is she, Pop?” Milan asked.

  “Remember Ronnie, the butcher?”

  “Yes. The guy who saved your life when you'd been shot and were lying in the street.”

  “Yes. It's his daughter. He died, and I promised him I would look after her.”

  “Jesus. He was short and fat. How could he have a daughter like her?” Milan asked.

  “His wife was an Italian bombshell. Jessie's the spitting image of her.”

  While Milan poured the champagne, his thoughts wandered to the beautiful butcher's daughter.

  *****

  “Get off me, you asshole,” Jessie screamed as Dritan pulled her from the sofa by her hair. “You're a bully. Leave me alone.” She tried to push him away, but he was far too powerful for her. He looked like the thug he was. His head was shaven, and his eyes pointed in slightly different directions.

  He pulled her onto the floor and knelt on top her, his kneecap pushing painfully into her stomach. “I've told you before, nobody finishes with me. Least of all a tramp like you. Now say sorry.”

  It was her evening off, and Jessie had told him once more that she didn't want to be his girlfriend. As usual, he'd exploded. She been trying to finish their volatile relationship for weeks, but each time she mentioned it, he flew into a rage, scaring her into silence.

  “No, I won't. It's over this time,” she hissed as his knee pushed farther into her soft belly. The slap that followed stung her face and caused blood to flow from her nose. The punch that followed that caused her eye to swell. She began to cry.

  “Stop your crying. Tell me you're sorry,” he said.

  “Sorry. Please don't hit me anymore,” she sobbed. He threatened to punch her again, and she turned her face away, but he'd had enough and stood up. He picked up his car keys from the coffee table and left the apartment.

  Jessie pulled herself up by the sofa and hobbled to the bathroom. Her stomach was on fire, and she got little relief when she threw up in the toilet
. She ran the cold tap and dabbed the places on her face that hurt the most. When she looked in the mirror, she was black and blue.

  “You've got to finish it,” she said to herself. “He's gonna kill you.”

  An hour later Dritan phoned and cried through the line. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me. You know how wound up I get sometimes. Forget it. Let's carry on as normal.”

  She agreed because she was too tired to argue and she feared another wild beating.

  *****

  Dritan walked into the casino and changed a hundred thousand in cash for chips. It was a large amount, but it didn't concern security; they were used to him. Invariably, he blew the lot in an evening, and on the odd occasion he was able to beat the house, he lost it again another day.

  Since the argument with Jessie he'd drunk half a bottle of vodka and was now in the mood to gamble, a lot. After he lost twenty grand on the roulette table, he swore at the croupier who ignored him. It wasn't the first time Dritan had sworn at him. Dritan walked to the blackjack table and sat down. After twenty minutes he was another twenty grand down.

  “I don't fucking believe it,” Dritan said as another hand, and three grand, was lost. “You're fucking cheating,” he said as he pulled the croupier to him by the collar of her blouse. Such was the strength of his grip that he tore two buttons from it, exposing her bra.

  “That's enough,” a security man behind him said. He placed his hand on Dritan's shoulder in an attempt to pull him from his seat. Dritan had other ideas, though, and flipped the man over onto his back and placed his foot on his neck. The security guard began to turn blue as he struggled to remove Dritan's foot.

  The punch to the side of Dritan's face knocked him five yards away and rendered him unconscious.

  “Who's this?” Milan asked.

  “Dritan Polyakov,” the security guard gasped. “Albanian.”

  “Let's get him out of here,” Milan said. They picked him up, carried him through the casino, and put him down in the flower bed opposite the casino. “He's banned. Put his name on the list,” Milan ordered the doorman when the reentered the casino.

  “He loses a hell of a lot of money here,” the doorman said.

  “I don't care. This is a casino, not a saloon bar in the Wild West,” Milan asserted.

  When Dritan woke up, his suit was covered in foliage and yellow dye from the plants he'd been lying on. He had a swollen face and a splitting headache. He picked himself up and walked to a taxi that was waiting outside the casino.

  “No. I'm not taking you anywhere. You'll get yellow stuff all over my car,” the taxi driver said.

  “Drive me or I'll rip your fucking head off,” Dritan threatened. When the taxi driver dropped Dritan off outside Jessie's apartment, Dritan paid him and got out.

  When Jessie didn't open the door, Dritan used the key he'd forced her to give him. When he slid under the covers behind her, she moved to the other side of the bed, out of his way.

  “Come on, I'm horny,” he said the next morning when they woke up. He put a hand across her and groped her breasts.

  “You hit me last night. My face is sore. I don't want to make love to you. I'm getting up.”

  Sated by his aggression toward her the previous evening, he rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “Okay. Tonight then,” he said.

  Jessie almost fainted when she saw her face in the mirror. The morning sun was flooding through the bathroom window, highlighting every bruise and mark he'd made.

  How the hell am I going to hide this? she asked herself. After she'd showered, she took her makeup bag and tried her best to cover up the damage. She was reasonably satisfied with the result.

  The casino hadn't opened when Jessie arrived at eleven. It opened at one, but Jessie usually had a couple of hours’ preparation work to do beforehand. She used the electronic keypad to enter via the employees entrance and went to the locker room. She took off her coat and hung it in her locker.

  “Jessie,” Milan said when she was walking over the empty casino floor on her way to office the hostesses used.

  “Hi, sir,” she replied.

  “Milan, not sir,” he said. “Wow, what happened to you?” he asked. She was devastated to see that her efforts to cover up her injuries had been in vain. She'd been mistaken in thinking that she'd hidden them sufficiently well. It was obvious to anyone that something had happened to her. “It's okay,” he said when he saw a tear roll down her cheek. “Come with me. Tell me what happened.” He escorted her into his office and sat her down on the sofa.

  “He attacked me,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “My boyfriend. He pulled me to the ground and thumped me, two or three times. I can't remember. It hurt a lot.”

  “What an asshole. Why don't you finish with him?”

  She looked at Milan and tilted her head to one side. “It's not that simple. He won't take no for an answer. He's strong, and I'm afraid of what he'll do to me.”

  “Jessie, you're an employee in our casino. We look after our own here. We also happen to be Russian, and we don't take this kind of shit from anybody. Tell me where he lives and I will see to him for you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but I don't want him hurt. I'm not like that. Perhaps there is another way. Would you pretend to be my new boyfriend for a while? Maybe he'll leave me alone when he sees who you are.”

  “Okay. I can do that. But he doesn't know me.”

  “Oh, he does. He's a regular here. In fact, he spends all his ill-gotten money here.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Dritan Polyakov.”

  Milan burst out laughing. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him quizzically. “I threw him out of here last night. We put him in the flower bed opposite.”

  “That explains the stains on his suit,” she said. In Milan's presence, she felt safe. He was a big man and as hard as nails—just the kind of guy she needed on her side to help her cleanse her life of Dritan.

  “I don't think you should be working today. Come with me. Let's go and relax a bit.”

  The Ferrari Milan was driving had just been delivered. “Nice motor,” Jessie said as they sped through the streets of Las Vegas.

  “It goes well. I've always loved Italian cars. They're so stylish,” he said as he glanced down at her equally stylish legs. He began to get thoughts he really didn't want to have given her vulnerable frame of mind. But she was so hot, he couldn't help it. What if she was really your girlfriend, not just a pretend? he asked himself.

  When they pulled up outside the Linden Health and Fitness Spa, he got out and opened her door. He scolded himself for looking at her legs when her skirt rode up slightly as she got out of the low-slung vehicle. He knew his grandmother, the woman he respected more than any other, would have clipped his ear for being so lurid. He remembered what she always used to say: “When in private you can look where she will allow you, but in public you should never look at any part of a woman's anatomy other than her face.”

  “Thanks. This is just what I needed,” Jessie said when they went inside the luxury spa.

  “I want you to take full advantage of the facilities. It's all on me. Relax and pamper yourself. Swim, sun yourself, get a massage, whatever. Meet me in the bar afterward.”

  Two hours later Jessie walked into the bar an altogether different person. Gone was the glum look she'd had in the morning, replaced by a glow.

  “Feeling better?” Milan asked.

  “Much. The masseur here has the best hands,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

  “I went for a swim and did some weights. Then I got lazy and read the newspaper here.”

  He ordered two large orange juices and took her to a table in the corner that overlooked the swimming pool.

  “What made you go out with him?” Milan asked, referring to Dritan.

  “He bowled me over. He didn't stop showering me with gifts. I saw how rich he was and how much he wanted me and
gave in to him.”

  “Ah, rich always works, doesn't it?” he observed.

  She laughed. “Women like men with money. And why not? Life is hard enough without being poor.”

  “Sure. So I guess you eventually found out what an asshole he was?”

  She took a sip of her orange juice and looked at an old man as he dived into the pool. “The first time he hit me, I thought I deserved it. I was bitchy to him. But then it became more regular. I tried to break up with him, but he wouldn't listen.”

  “Well, he'll have to now, won't he?” Milan said confidently.

  “Yes. Thanks. Without your help, I don't know who I'd turn to.”

  “Don't you have any family?”

  “No. My parents are dead, and I'm an only child. I was brought up in LA and came to Las Vegas after college because I love the casino world.”

  “You and me both. It's amazing. It's not real. It's like a world parallel to the one most people live in. Look at all the characters that frequent casinos. You wouldn't find so many different types in any other establishment.”

  “Do you gamble?” she asked.

  “No. Don't gamble, don't drink. I was a boxer in college, so I had to be fit.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You don't mind helping me, do you?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “No. It's an honor to be able to help such a beautiful woman,” he said. “Sorry that was indiscreet,” he added.

  “No. I liked it. I like being called beautiful, especially by you.”

  “Sure you do. After all, you're my girlfriend aren't you?” he joked. “Seriously though, you should stay at my house, out of his way for a while. It's big enough.”

  *****

  When Milan's car pulled up outside his house, Jessie realized that it was indeed big enough. It was surrounded by a high wall, the gate guarded by security. Inside the wall, the driveway wound its way around a huge tree on a well-manicured piece of grass, stopping outside the front door. It was a stone house with six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a pool, a tennis court, and a kitchen the likes of which Jessie had never seen.

  “You were right. It's enormous,” she said when they stopped.